


The Prairie -- a 19th century Poldark AU

by mmmuse



Category: Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, F/M, Kidnapping, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 127,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Correspondence

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is all Rainpuddle and her crazy, fertile plot bunny colony's fault. :-) Thank you very much, my friend!

Ross Vennor Poldark, late of Cornwall, England sat outside the St. Joseph, Missouri trading post and looked at the stack of letters that had arrived for him, each with the delicate, feminine script of women eager to leave their present circumstances to come to the Wild West. And that was the problem. What kind of circumstance would drive a woman to come all the way out here? But what choice did he have? He had a four year old to raise.

Ross’s journey to the west began the night his cousin Francis died. Influenza had swept through their district with a ferocious speed, carrying Elizabeth Poldark to the blessed below within the first week. Francis, himself sick with illness and grief, asked Ross to bring his lawyer to Trenwith. Twenty minutes later, Ross was designated guardian of Geoffrey Charles, heir to the entire estate. That designation was realized within hours.

News of their emigration to the United States caused an uproar in the county, particularly with his being a young man of twenty-five with a toddler in tow. But Ross had long since stopped caring what people thought of him. Besides, unbeknownst to all, he’d been planning to depart for the States before the flu struck. There’d been nothing left for him in Cornwall, after the rock fall in Wheal Leisure all but destroyed what was left of his inheritance and a letter from his friend Dwight had begun to fill his head with the adventure of the American west. Ross settled his affairs with his banker, Pascoe, including the sale of Trenwith into a trust for Geoffrey Charles and set off to Liverpool for the crossing.

So had begun the Poldarks' adventure to lands unknown. It took them several months to meet up with Dwight in St. Joseph, Missouri and hear more about this new territory he was keen to explore. A doctor was needed at a place called Bush Prairie in the new Washington Territory, part of a settlement near the Hudson Bay Company’s trading post at Fort Nisqually. Dwight had been out there and back, returned to recruit another physician and had tales to tell of the wild and beautiful countryside. Large plats of land were available in Schneider Prairie, a sweep of land bordered by lush evergreen trees along the Deschutes River for anyone with the resources and the gumption to carve it out of the acres of evergreen forest. The more Ross heard of the description of the land, the beauty and savagery, the more excited he became – a truly fresh start for he and the lad.

_“There’s only one problem, Ross,” Dwight said, rubbing his hand on his chin. They sat in the room at the boarding house Ross had hired for their stay before their departure in the spring. Geoffrey Charles, thankfully, was sleeping soundly. He’d had a bad night, missing his parents. Ross wasn’t much better, but enjoyed talking with Dwight once again after so many months. “If you do this, it will require more hard work than you’ve ever known, and keeping an eye on Geoffrey Charles will be impossible.”_

_“You mean there’s no one I could hire to come care for him?” Ross said. He sipped on the whiskey Dwight had brought with him and blinked. Powerful, yet smooth and smoky. “What’s this called, then?”_

_“Bourbon,” Dwight said with a grin. “Put some hair on your chest.”_

_“I don’t need any assistance in that area, thank you very much, Enys,” Ross snorted and gave his friend a punch in the arm. “In any event, go on.”_

_“There are very few women out where we are going,” Dwight said. “Or, I should say, the women who are there aren’t the type one goes to for child minding.”_

_Ross frowned. He’d been fortunate on the trip across the Atlantic and to Missouri to travel with a number of families who were more than happy to assist him with the boy’s care, especially after hearing their tale. “Do you suggest I attempt to find someone here to hire for the task?” Ross asked._

_Dwight shook his head. “You can try, but as far as I can see, there’s only one thing you can do.” He finished his glass and reached to pour another. “Marriage.”_

_Ross blanched, his mouth as dry as a desert. “No.”_

_Dwight nodded. “Yes indeed. I don’t think any woman would agree to travel out to where we are going with only the promise of being a nanny. It’s a hard life for a woman, Ross. She would need to be prepared to deal with everything you are prepared to deal with: rough surroundings, heavy farm work, maintaining a rustic home without any of the creature comforts she might already have here.”_

_Ross took another sip of whiskey and felt it burn all the way to his jumping stomach. “Well, perhaps she would be more amenable to the challenge if she is paid well for her services,” he said, grasping at straws._

_Dwight looked at him over his glass sardonically. “What do you think, Ross? And then there are appearances.”_

_“Appearances?” Ross said, unease twisting in his gut._

_“Yes, appearances, Ross,” Dwight said. “A single woman, even if she were older than you, living in your home without benefit of marriage would do nothing but have you and Geoffrey Charles embroiled in a heap of gossip and scandal.”_

_Ross felt sweat begin to whisper down the back of his neck. Several of the families Ross had travelled with had daughters of marriageable age he’d prided himself on avoiding any compromising entanglements. If he’d known then what he knew now he might not have bothered, but he’d done so because none of them had appealed to him._

_Perhaps he needed to reconsider his appraisals. As if reading his mind, Dwight posed the question. “Can you locate any of them?”_

_Ross sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. “Two other families with young children, Geoffrey Charles and I were the only ones coming out this far. The closest family with a suitable daughter would be back in Virginia.”_

_“You do have another alternative,” Dwight said. “But we will have to do this quickly in order for us to have time to make the paper.”_

_“Paper?”_

_“An advertisement,” Dwight said. “Place an advertisement for a mail-order bride.”_

_Ross choked on his bourbon. “A mail-order bride?” he gasped sharply. He winced as he heard Geoffrey Charles whimper at the noise and lowered his voice. “Dwight, have you gone mad?”_

_“No, I’ve not,” he said, his eyes serious. “It’s the only thing you can do, unless you decide to settle here in St. Joseph or, better still, return to the east coast where there would be plenty of older widows who could tend to the boy in more civilized environs.”_

_Civilized environs. Ross grimaced at the term. He wasn’t unaware of the political powers at work within his new country. A war was coming, and he knew if he didn’t move as far west as he could he would be caught up in it. What would that mean for Geoffrey Charles, to have his uncle killed on a battlefield?_

_No, it was west for the Poldarks. But marriage? It wasn’t that he was opposed to the institution. His own parents, Joshua and Grace, had had a successful marriage, at least what he could remember of it. He remembered how his father had changed after his mother’s death, running around the district, smuggling, gambling and womanizing. His behaviour had blackened the name and reputation of the Nampara Poldarks as each year passed. And though Ross may have inherited the rebellious side of his nature from Joshua, he had no stomach for pleasure for pleasure’s sake. He always believed that when he married –_ if _he ever married – it would be to someone who held him, captivated him, body and soul._

_And now he was casting the future of his heart and family name to someone answering an advertisement? Ross tossed back the last of his bourbon and rose to his feet to get some parchment._

One hour later and the advertisement was sent to the eastern newspapers:

 

> A young man, strong and handsome, is seeking to form an attachment with a smart, attractive woman of marriageable age interested in adventure and matrimony in the Washington Territory. Must be familiar with child rearing, cooking, and not afraid of hard work, including farm and gardening. Address: R. Poldark, St. Joseph Gazette, St. Joseph, Missouri

The man at the Gazette said responses would arrive within a month or so. Ross hoped so: there were wagon trains leaving St. Joseph on a regular basis, but if they weren’t underway by next May there would be no way of making it over the passes before the snow flew. As luck would have it, the responses had come before Christmas. Ross opened the third letter from the stack and paused. A word jumped out to him and drew his attention: Cornwall.

 

> Dear Sir,
> 
> Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Demelza Carne and I am originally from Illogan in Cornwall. I remember hearing of the Poldark family in the Truro district and wonder if you are related to them. I am new to America, arriving nine months ago and am currently in New York. I work as a seamstress and am seeking to make the acquaintance of a gentleman seeking a matrimonial partnership. I have experience taking care of my five younger brothers, am told I am an adequate cook and am familiar with keeping a house and gardening. I admit to not having experience with farm work but am a quick learner and prepared to work hard.
> 
> I offer this description to you: I am twenty years of age, tall and slender, with red hair, blue eyes and all my teeth. I have been told I am comely.
> 
> I look forward to hearing from you, Mr Poldark.
> 
> Yours very truly,
> 
> Demelza Carne, c/o Thomas’s Haberdashery, 201 E 23rd New York City, NY

Ross dutifully read through the other letters, but found himself returning to Miss Carne’s time and time again. Here was a well-lettered, intelligent sounding woman willing to come out to west to marry him, sight unseen and based only upon an advertisement she’d seen in the paper? He shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. _Only in America_ , he thought to himself with a rueful chuckle.

And what were the chances of his receiving a response from a woman from so near his old home? He found himself thinking of the cliffs and moors, the sea spray and the mines and a pang of homesickness swept through him like a knife. He’d found himself missing the smell of the sea most of all since arriving in the Midwest. One of the reasons Ross found himself so drawn to risk everything to reach the Washington Territory was the promise of once again touching the sea. The thought of sharing the experience with someone carrying some of those same shared memories was tempting. Very tempting indeed.

He rose from his seat to go to his room for parchment and ink. It was time to respond.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Drake Carne climbed the four flights of stairs to the dingy apartment he shared with his sister, a brilliant smile on his face. “Demelza!” he shouted, even before he’d reached the landing.

The door creaked open and a young woman with a wild mop of red curls stuck her head out of the room. “Drake! It’s ten o’clock at night – be quiet!”

“Sorry, Demelza!” he said, bussing her cheek with a kiss as he came in and shook his coat off. He walked over to the stew pot and noticed a letter sitting next to the stove. You’ve got a letter!” He picked it up and turned to find her looking at him, a frown marring her pretty brow. He handed it to her. “It’s from Missouri.”

“I can see that,” she said, looking at the address. She paused before looking up at him. She held the letter back out to him. “Can you help me read it?” Demelza had to stop going to school when their mother died. Drake had done his best to share what he’d learned along the way, but she was nowhere near as proficient as he was.

He nodded. “I can, but you should practice along with me. You open it.” She raced over to light two more candles, sat at their small kitchen table and slipped her finger along the sealing.

He watched as she unfolded the parchment and smiled, her finger tracing along the letters. Drake could see they were written with a strong, bold hand. He edged his chair closer to hers and their two red heads bent forward to read:

 

> Dear Miss Carne,
> 
> I am in receipt of your letter dated the fifth of October 1857 and hope this reply finds you in excellent health. It is nice to engage in conversation with someone from my homeland. I am indeed one of the Poldarks from the Truro district. My nephew Geoffrey Charles and I emigrated west after the death of his parents. I am the boy’s guardian and it is primarily for that reason I find myself seeking a wife.
> 
> I am twenty-five years of age, healthy and rigorous with dark hair and brown eyes. I can offer you a simple, but adventurous life and promise to protect you and any children our union would produce. My nephew Geoffrey Charles is four years of age, smart and mischievous, although he occasionally suffers from melancholia when thinking of his late parents. I would require you to see to his welfare, including his education until he is old enough to attend school.
> 
> We will need to depart no later than the first of May to avoid the first winter snows in the passes. Because of the time required for letters to travel between here and New York, I enclose a bank draft for the full amount you will require for your passage. I place my trust in your honesty that your willingness to consider my proposal will have you on a wagon train to Missouri no later than the first of February.
> 
> I look forward to seeing you in the spring, Miss Carne. Until then, I remain,
> 
> Your servant,
> 
> Ross Vennor Poldark

Her eyes widened with shock as a bank draft slipped out of the envelope. Her fingers fumbled for the edge and she peered down “Drake?” she breathed. “Drake, is this what I think it is?”

Drake picked it up and blinked several times, barely believing his own eyes. “This is for $150!” Tears trembled on his sister’s eyelashes as her eyes flashed over the letter. He covered her hand and rubbed his thumb across it. “Demelza, this is more than enough for you to travel west. This is good news!” She shook her head. He sighed. He may only be twelve, but was quite insightful for his age. She had been concerned because she hadn’t told Poldark about her little brother. “We went round and round about this before you send the letter! He wouldn’t want to take on another mouth to feed.”

“You’re only twelve years old!” she said. “How can I just abandon you here?”

“You don’t have a choice, Demelza,” Drake said grimly. “Papa’s found you, and if he has found you so will Colin.”

~*~*~*~*~*

Late into the night, Demelza stared first at her father’s letter, then at Ross’s. One represented terror and the other freedom. She wondered if Colin was already on his way to America to make his claim on her. Colin Polgarry was the reason they’d fled Cornwall. He was one of their father’s friends from the mine. Demelza had always felt uneasy around this man, but had grown fearful about a year before when he’d cornered her and kiss her, his tongue plunging nauseatingly into her mouth. His hands gripped her breasts, tugged at her laces and filled her with terror. She’d been able to escape his arms when her older brother Sam had discovered them, but the damage had been done. Her father accused her of leading Colin on and insisted she marry him. Demelza immediately began to plan her escape.

Was this letter from Poldark the answer to her prayers? She wished she had the money to flee to Missouri a week ago when she’d taken the letter from her father from Mr Thomas’s hand. As it was, they’d barely saved half of the money needed to get _one_ of them out west, and Demelza was not about to leave her little brother behind.

Was there enough money now to allow them both to escape?


	2. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.
> 
> Potential Trigger Warning in Chapter 2 only.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Potential Trigger Warning:** there is a reference to what occurred to cause Demelza to flee to the states and it involves an attempted assault.

Demelza walked into the workroom at Thomas’s Haberdashery and sorted through the pieces she needed to finish before the end of the day. She only had a week before she and Drake would head west and needed every single penny she could save before then. Toward that end, Mr and Mrs Thomas were kind enough to let the Carnes stay in their spare room for the week so they could save what they would have spent on their weekly rent.

The day after they received Poldark’s letter the two of them went to the stage company running trains out to St Joseph to confirm the cost for their travel. While the money she’d received would more than pay for Demelza to travel west in relative comfort, they would need to have another fifty dollars to pay for Drake’s ticket. There was one other option, however: they could agree to work for other passengers to cover the cost. The work was basic: she would help with the cooking and Drake would assist with the horses. It was good, honest work and the solution to their dilemma.

“Demelza, dear,” Mrs Thomas’s voice called from the hallway. “Can you come help me with some fabric?” Demelza smiled and rose to hurry to the other room. She found Mrs Thomas – a woman of around fifty years of age – attempting to balance two heavy bolts of fabric in her arms and rushed over to relieve her of them.

Katherine Thomas and her husband, Bertram, had taken a chance on her when she and Drake first arrived in America. The woman had become a friend almost immediately, and was quick to share her knowledge with her new young seamstress. Mrs Thomas had been dismayed when Demelza first mentioned her plans to answer an advertisement for a mail-order bride, until she learned of the reason for it. And as sad as the older woman was to see her protégée leave for unknown adventures she was prepared to assist in whatever way she could.

“Mrs Thomas, you shouldn’t try to move these all by yourself!” Demelza chided, smiling to soften her tone. “If you put together a list I’ll be happy to pull them for you.”

“I know, my dear,” Mrs Thomas said, a little breathless. “I suppose I wanted to try to do this as a surprise.”

Demelza looked at the blue gingham fabric in her hands before returning her gaze to Mrs Thomas’s face. “You’re making me a dress?” she asked, her voice trembling on the last word. Demelza had been piecing a new dress in her spare time that she’d hoped to finish before she left.

“I wanted you to have something from us to remember us by,” Mrs Thomas murmured. Demelza found herself blinking back tears. The woman touched her hand. “I wish we could do more, to protect you and young Drake. So that you wouldn’t have to leave.”

Demelza shook her head. “This is not your fight, Mrs Thomas,” Demelza insisted. “I wouldn’t have you place you and Mr Thomas in such risk.” She furrowed her brow. “Have you given any thought to what I suggested you say if my father comes searching for me?”

“You mean that you were here and left one night without warning?” Mrs Thomas asked.

“Yes,” Demelza said confidently. “It’s what I did when I left home, so he’ll have no reason to doubt it.” She smiled again at her friend. “Thank you for the dress, Mrs Thomas. I’ll cherish it.”

“You are most welcome, my dear,” Mrs Thomas said kindly. She touched the bolt of fabric in her arms. “Now, blue or pink?”

Demelza laughed. “Blue, please!”

They returned to the workroom where they settled in quiet companionship over their work. Demelza focused her attention on a ball gown Mrs Standish had brought in the day before for repairs. She touched the rich satin taffeta fabric, the handmade lace and beading and figured the chances of running into materials like this out on the prairie would be slim to none. Soon, her days would be filled with sun, fresh air, and exploration amidst thousands and thousands of miles of virgin land. Admittedly, the rumours of Indian massacres and wild animals had originally given her pause to even consider this plan. However, the reality of her situation had laid waste to any apprehensions she may have had about taking the drastic step of marrying a _stranger_ and becoming a pioneer. _What was that saying again?_ she thought to herself. _“Better the devil you know”?_ Not in this case. The prospect of a life with Colin Polgarry was that bad.

Demelza’s mother died when she was only eight years of age. She had succumbed to childbed fever three days after the birth of her youngest brother, Drake. She’d been devastated, of course, but her father, who had been a warm, gregarious man, had been broken by her loss. He became morose, angry and abusive towards all of his children, but focused most of his ire on his only daughter. Demelza did the best she could, doing the cooking, cleaning, and caring for her brothers to try to keep the peace. This worked most of the time. Most of the time. Her father spent more and more time at the kiddlywinks, spending much of the money coming into the house on cheap gin. While the money would have gone a long way to fill their bellies, whatever time he spent there meant less time the Carne children would be within the reach of his belt.

Five years had passed and her father brought Colin to their home on their way to drink and carouse. She remembered how he had stared at her a little longer than was proper with his unsettling, pale grey eyes. As she’d grown older and lost the coltish, boyish frame she’d had for a young woman’s curves, Demelza made a point of never being alone in the house – or anywhere, for that matter – if there were a chance of his being near her. That usually meant she had Drake by her side. Drake was more her own child than her brother and she loved him unconditionally. The feeling was quite mutual. Drake had been sick at home the night Colin cornered her at the town fair and sent her life veering into an unknown world.

Unbidden, the memory of that evening bloomed forth in her mind as if it were yesterday.

_“Wha' do we 'ave 'ere?” a dark, familiar voice said. Demelza froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. She turned her head to find Colin standing in the open doorway. She’d come to the stable to see the new foal that had been born earlier in the day, not pausing to think it would take her away from the crowds. Oh why did Drake have to be sick tonight?_

_“Good evening, Colin,” she said, swallowing past the tightness in her throat._

_“Come ou' for some fresh air and 'ere I find the freshes' o' flowers,” he crooned. Demelza was considered tall for a woman, yet Colin stood a head taller than she. Large and muscular from years of mine work, he was an intimidating man to most. He smiled, revealing several missing teeth, and she shuddered with revulsion._

_She dropped the apple she’d hoped to give the new mare. “I am expected back with my brothers now,” she said with as much bravery as she could muster. She made a move to slip around him and was caught by her arm. He yanked her against him and kissed her tightly closed mouth. The smell of gin, decaying teeth and his unwashed body made her open her mouth to gag. He took this as an invitation to thrust his tongue into her mouth. She screamed against his mouth, struggled against the iron grip of his hands on her arms. One of his hands released her arm and fondled her breast. Cold sweat broke out all over her body as she fought and kicked against him._

_"Demelza! Demelza, where are you?”_

_Colin’s hand reached for her laces as the sound of her brother Sam’s voice called out in the night. She wrenched her mouth from Colin’s and screamed as loud as she could. A blistering slap dazed her, making her ears ring. Her knees buckled and she wept, for she knew he now had the advantage. One minute, she prepared for his continued assault, and the next she was being lifted into the arms of her brother._

_“Sam,” she croaked through her sobs. She looked down and found Colin lying motionless on the stable floor, bleeding from a gash in his head. “Is he dead?”_

_“No, curse the devil,” Sam spat. “One of the other boys saw him follow you in here and came to find me.” He set her down and looked her over. Demelza was certain she looked a fright and tried to smooth her hair. Sam shook his head, took off his coat and draped it around her shoulders before pinning her with his brown-eyed gaze. “Did he…”_

_Demelza shuddered violently and shook her head. “No. But I don’t doubt he would have if you hadn’t come.” Her stomach twisted and she stumbled away from Sam, retching until there was nothing left but bile in her gut. He came over to offer his kerchief. “Please take me home, Sam.”_

The memory of the assault still had the power to sicken her, and the threat of his finding her all the way on the other side of the ocean strengthened her resolve. Seven days from now she would begin to put thousands and thousands of miles between she and Polgarry by marrying Ross Poldark.

Now, all she had to do was figure out how to tell her intended about Drake.

She also had to tell him she was not as learned as he may think, based on her letter. Mrs Thomas had written it for her, so that the handwriting would be neat and beautifully formed, not the rounded, childish script she’d been able to manage for the last year. Once the decision was made to embark on this scheme she’d practiced her penmanship each night after her day’s work. She’s noticed a marked improvement since she started, but she still had a long way to go to for her hand to be as polished as she wanted it to be.

Tracing letters was one thing. _Reading_ them was another. Demelza had a mind for figures and was able to manage reading simple things, like food labels, but making her way through the newspaper and books were a struggle. She worked with Drake to take these items in small quantities until she could read them in their entirety. But that kind of learning took time, and they didn’t have a lot of that left before the truth would be known. There would be no fooling Poldark about her reading abilities. Perhaps one of the things she can say to soften the blow of bringing another mouth to feed along for the journey would be that Drake will not only be able to be an extra pair of hands to help, but would also be able to help with Geoffrey Charles’s education.

She sighed and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. So many lies. What had Poldark said in his letter? _“I place my trust in your honesty…”_ She honestly needed his assistance, without question. Would he be so forgiving after discovering she’d misled him? She shook her head. Time enough to worry about all this later. She had wages to earn and returned her attention to the ball gown.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross stared incredulously at the feather-filled room. “What in the hell happened in here, Geoffrey Charles?” he bellowed, only to violently cough out the fine down he’d sucked into his lungs. The boy stood near the chest of drawers, an empty pillowcase in his hand and covered head to toe with feathers. “I step out of the room for five minutes and you do your damnedest to destroy it?”

“I didn’t mean to!” the boy pouted. “I was jumping on the bed and the pillow broke!”

 _Jumping on the bed_ , Ross thought to himself as he looked around the room in horror. He’d deal with _that_ transgression as soon as he figured out how he was supposed to clean up this nightmare. He sneezed violently three times in a row before he walked over, grabbed the boy’s arm and left the room. Two more sneezes exploded from his chest as they made their way down the stairs and over to Mrs Sherman’s room.

She was going to kill him.

Two hours later, Ross stuffed the last of the feathers into a bag and collapsed onto the stripped bed. Mrs Sherman gave him the task of cleaning the room while she watched Geoffrey Charles. Ross made countless trips up and down the stairs, hauling bedding and rugs out of the house to be shaken or beaten – by him, of course. He chased around the last of the stragglers with a broom and damp mop, all the while pondering whether _this_ was the incident which would force him formally discipline the boy.

Before his parents died, Geoffrey Charles was a typical four-year-old boy: mischievous, laughing and deeply loved. After Francis and Elizabeth’s passing, the sunny side of his nature faded into melancholy. During their travel across the Atlantic and on to Missouri, he was quiet and withdrawn, causing Ross to worry about whether the lad would ever begin to thrive again. It made him doubt whether his choices were indeed made in the best interests for the two of them, or if he’d only taken himself into consideration.

So the day that he’d gone to the stockyard to inquire about a team of oxen for their journey and found Geoffrey Charles up to his knees in cow manure with a devilish grin on his face, Ross was barely able to keep a dour, parental look on his own face as he reprimanded the child. He was barely able to keep his lunch down, either. Since then, it had been snowballs and mud puddles, boot black on the doorknob and a dead fish in his boots.

 _Was it boredom?_ Ross thought to himself. He wouldn’t blame the boy. Ross did what he could to entertain his nephew, telling him stories, sharing unique items he’d found as he made his way through St Joseph making plans for their trip. He kept the lad fed and bathed, but he knew what he needed was a mother’s touch.

His thoughts turned to the hasty decision he’d made to send Miss Carne the money for her trip. Dwight had lambasted him up on side and down the other when Ross told him his decision. Well, it had been almost six weeks and he hadn’t heard a word. She would need to be leaving New York within the next few days in order for her to be here in time for them to leave for the west. For all he knew, she’d taken it and was living high on the hog and laughing at his expense. It would serve him right, of course. Reckless and rash, the standard for the Poldarks.

He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands across his face before he sat up on the bed. His muscles groaned from all of the rug hauling as he stood to leave the room. He opened the door to find Mrs Sherman standing in front of him, her thin hands clamped on Geoffrey Charles’s shoulders. The boy’s eyes where cast down on the floor.

Ross bit back a groan and met the boarding house owner’s steely glare. “What has he done, Mrs Sherman?” he asked wearily.

“Only consumed the entire apple pie I made for tonight’s dessert,” she snapped. Ross blinked and knelt in order to lift the boy’s chin up off his chest. His face was pale and covered with sticky apple filling and pie crust crumbs.

He sighed wearily and rose to his feet. “I am very sorry, Mrs Sherman,” Ross offered. “I realize Geoffrey Charles has been at the centre of a series of unfortunate pranks and inconveniences today—”

“—Today?” she interrupted. “This…child has been wreaking havoc in this house for the last several weeks, Mr Poldark.” She reeled off the incident list with militaristic precision. "This cannot continue!”

It was clear she’d been hoarding her fury at the boy for such a moment as this, and Ross feared she was building to a crescendo that would result in their eviction. He pulled Geoffrey Charles – whose face was changing from pale white to slightly green– against him and pressed his hand against small, trembling back. “Mrs Sherman," Ross said softly, “I will be more than happy to cover any expenses Geoffrey Charles’s poor behaviour has caused. I beg you to give us one more chance. Please.”

She glared up at him, her lips pursed into a thin, bloodless line. “One more chance, Mr Poldark.” She flicked her gaze down at Geoffrey Charles. “One more.”

Ross heaved a sigh of relief and gave the boy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Mrs Sherman,” he said gratefully. He gave his nephew’s shoulder a nudge, turning him to face her. “What do you say, Geoffrey Charles?”

His nephew opened his mouth and vomited all over Mrs Sherman’s skirts.

 

“You can stay here tonight, but you’ll have to sort something else out in the morning,” Dwight offered. Ross nodded and, shifting Geoffrey Charles’s limp body to his other shoulder, crossed the threshold of Dwight’s room above a neighbouring saloon. He laid the boy down on the couch and sank down into a wooden chair with a groan. “I can’t believe you were thrown out of Mrs Sherman’s, Ross. What on earth happened?”

Ross ran through the events of the day. Two things kept him from punching the laughter out of his friend’s lungs: they needed a place to stay and Dwight had bourbon. He’d finished his second glass before Dwight stopped his guffawing. “I’m happy to have provided you with your evening’s entertainment, Dwight,” he muttered.

Dwight wiped his eyes and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ross,” he said apologetically. “One day you will be able to look back upon this and laugh yourself.”

Ross grunted. “Jesus, Dwight, he’s been a terror for the last several weeks. I honestly don’t know what else I can do.” He paused. “Except for taking my belt to him, and I will not do that.”

Dwight nodded. “He needs a mother.” Ross glared at him. “Speaking of which, have you heard anything from Miss Carne?” he asked.

Ross poured more bourbon into his glass and took a swallow. “No. I haven’t.” He downed the rest of the liquid with hissed a breath. “She has two more days.” He looked over at the sleeping tow-headed boy. “So what should I do?”

Dwight raised a brow. “You need to set boundaries for behaviour. Talk to him, Ross. But in the morning.”

 

Ross woke with a nasty headache and nastier disposition, neither of which would help get him through the next few moments. He drank some of the worst coffee he’d ever had in an effort to help him think straight. He took a deep breath and turned to face his angel-faced nemesis. “Do you know why we had to come over to Dr Dwight’s room last night?” Ross said softly.

“No, I don’t, uncle,” Geoffrey Charles mumbled unconvincingly.

“I think you do, my lad,” Ross countered. “It was because you have been behaving badly. Jumping on the bed, making messes, playing tricks.” He leaned forward. “And eating that pie.” Geoffrey Charles squirmed and rubbed his stomach. “Yes, my boy, that was the final straw. Now we have to find a new place to live because of your behaving badly.”

Geoffrey Charles looked up at him. “I wan’ go home.” Tears trembled on his pale eyelashes. _Oh God_ , Ross thought to himself. _Not tears._ “I wan’ Mama and Papa.” The boy let out a keening cry and launched himself into Ross’s arms, weeping with all of the despair in his heart. Ross held him tight, rocking him gently and murmuring nonsense words into his ear.

They stayed like that for several minutes, and Ross thought of his late cousin and his wife, buried in the graveyard at Sawle church. _So very far away,_ Ross thought. He would never see them again, of that he was certain. Geoffrey Charles, however, may one day travel back to see the land of his birth. It was up to Ross to nurture the memories of their life in Cornwall, to reminisce on his past with the boy’s parents to keep their image as alive as he could.

And so, as Dwight returned with a bite to eat, he told the boy stories of his life with his father, when they would play as children and how his mother was the prettiest girl in the county. Ross told him how much they loved him, missed them and – despite his own dubious beliefs in an afterlife – now watched over him.

“They can see me?” Geoffrey Charles whispered. Ross nodded guiltily, wondering what irrevocable harm he’d inflicted _this_ time. “So I should be good for them so they can be proud of me?”

Ross gave Dwight a side-long glance only to receive a non-committal shrug. “Yes, but more importantly because it’s the right thing to do, Geoffrey Charles." He brushed the sunny blond head. “It will make me happy, too.”

He patted the side of Ross’s face. “I like to make you happy, uncle.” He bit his bottom lip. “I’m sorry I was so bad.”

Ross beamed at his nephew. “Apology accepted, my lad.” He gave him a squeeze and set him down on his feet. “Now I need you to say that to Mrs Sherman, all right Geoffrey Charles?” The boy nodded. Ross looked up at Dwight. “Keep your fingers crossed, my friend.”

Ross made sure he and the boy were as presentable as they could be after a rough night’s sleep before they made the five minute walk to the boarding house. Ross knocked and swallowed hard when the stern woman opened the door.

He gave Geoffrey Charles a sharp nudge. “I’m v-very sorry for b-being so bad, Mrs Sherman,” the boy stammered.

Ross nodded. “Very good, Geoffrey Charles.” He looked at Mrs Sherman. “May we have a second chance?

She pursed her lips and nodded. “One more chance, Mr Poldark.” Ross breathed a sigh of relief. “Besides, it saves me the time of trying to track down where you were moving to.”

Ross frowned. “To what purpose, may I ask?”

"Telegram," she said. She reached into the pocket of her dress and extracted a small yellow envelope. “Came for you after you…left yesterday afternoon,” she said.

Ross blinked. Using the new telegraph machines to send messages in instants was expensive. Who would spend hard-earned cash to send a messag... His hand shook as he took it from her and opened it. 

 

> 29 JAN 1857 STOP EN ROUTE TO ST JOSEPH STOP ARRIVING 15 MAR STOP D CARNE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you who have commented or left kudos so far on our little adventure here! Massive thanks to rainpuddle and xxsparksxx for their continued support and input, and rainpuddle for her beta.


	3. Arrivals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

“St Joseph, Mizzourah! End of the line in fifteen minutes!” Brody’s voice rang out from next to the chuck wagon. Demelza started, pricking her finger with the needle she used to sew up the last of the bags of flour. She stuck the wounded digit in her mouth, tasting the metallic tang of blood against her tongue, and did her best not to allow the worry that had grown with each passing mile to overwhelm her as it had last night.

God, what on earth was she doing? “It’s a little late to be asking yourself that question now, isn’t it, sister?” her brother had said to her last night. They’d both finished their chores for the night when she’d obviously muttered her thoughts loud enough for him to hear. _Lucky he hadn’t had the entire pail of slop dumped on his head for_ that, she grumbled to herself, tying off a knot in the thread and putting the bag up in its cupboard. She peered through the flap towards the front of the wagon to see if she could catch a glimpse of the town, but was thwarted by the huge, hunched shoulders of the wagon train’s cook, unimaginatively named Cookie, who drove the oxen at a slow, methodical pace. She was grateful for that, because the thought of riding in the back of the chuck wagon any faster than a plod was enough to make her shiver. As it was, each of the over twelve-hundred miles they’d travelled from New York had done their best to rattle all of her teeth loose.

And she had several more months of this to look forward to? God. What on earth  _was_ she getting herself into?

The trip had been more difficult than she’d anticipated. She and Drake had agreed to work for the part of their passage, and work they certainly had done. Both the cooking and caring for the animals required they rise well before and go to sleep well after the other homesteaders, averaging four hours of sleep a night. Demelza was right to wonder whether she’d fall asleep on her feet once they were cleared to leave the train. After all, she should probably be awake the first time she met her intended.

Ross Vennor Poldark. Strong name. Was he strong enough to live up to his promise to protect her? Despite being the person who encouraged her to respond to Poldark’s advertisement, Drake had asked her this question over and over again, whether he would stand up to Colin should he find them. He’d asked often enough to begin to pick away at the faith she’d placed in this unknown man. However, each time she doubted she thought about the trust he’d placed in her, sending her the money for her travel without any further questions. Would a man making that kind of commitment turn his back on her once the truth was known?

Would he be at the station when they arrived? She’d spent the lion’s share of the last week trying to assemble her thoughts about the half-truths and outright lies she’d told him in their limited correspondence and knew she’d feel more confident about facing him if she had a chance to freshen up and change out of the now-filthy dress she’d worn for the last week. She looked down at herself, the simple tan dress was nearly black with spills, dust and the smoke from their cook fires, and wondered whether it would be worth trying to save. She knew she didn’t have the luxury of tossing away a perfectly good dress, regardless of how horrible it might look. Or, she thought with a sniff, smell.

She stood up and looked over Cookie’s shoulder again and could see the wooden buildings of St Joseph through the dust of the train and swallowed. What on earth was she getting herself into? She was about to find out.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross checked his pocket watch once more and craned his neck in an effort to see the passengers disembarking the wagon train from New York. He’d spent the last four weeks in a frenzy of activity in preparation for the arrival of the woman he intended to make his wife. She was arriving almost a month before he thought she would, which meant they could get an earlier start out on the trail to the territory. He’d sketched out what they would need to set up a snug, little cabin and estimated, with luck and good weather, they would have ample time to get it accomplished before the first winter snows covered the Nisqually valley.

And as much as he’d resisted the thought of getting married at first, he’d since grown very comfortable with the idea. Geoffrey Charles was doing better at behaving, but Ross had to admit it would be wonderful to have someone to share the childrearing. The thought of having the companionship of a wife, someone with whom he could share this new life in America, to experience the accomplishment of carving out a home from the wilderness and, if he were being perfectly honest with himself, sharing his bed, had begun to intrude on his sleep with some frequency.

He frowned and peered around the travellers walking up the boardwalk and wondered if he’d missed her. He’d been scanning the crowd for a tall woman with red hair and had only seen one woman of Demelza’s age, a very attractive blonde walking next to an older gentleman he assumed was her husband. As the crowd thinned, Ross’s annoyance dissolved into worry. Her telegram stated she would be on _this_ train from New York. Had something happened along the way? He swallowed hard and moved up the boardwalk towards the station to see for himself.

He reached the station a few moments later and walked up to the first driver he could find. “Excuse me, is this the train from New York?” he motioned to the mud and dust-covered series of wagons and stages to his right.

“Yessir,” the driver confirmed. “Only have the wagon crew left, working on clearing out and restocking before they head back tomorrow.”

Ross’s heart thudded hard in his chest, worry growing exponentially. “Where is the wagon master?” he demanded. “Point him out to me.”

The driver’s eyes widened at the authority of the request and he raised his hand to identify a squat man over to the left of what appeared to be the chuck wagon. Ross nodded his thanks and strode over without a moment’s hesitation. “Excuse me!” Ross called out, waving his hand to catch the man’s attention. The man looked up and nodded him over.

“I’m Brody, sir,” he croaked, hawking and spitting onto the ground behind him. “Sorry, sir. Road dust in this area always sets up my throat something fierce”

Ross waved his hand. “No need to apologize. I’m Ross Poldark and I was expecting a traveller on this train.” Ross thought he heard a squeak near the back of the wagon but returned his gaze to Mr Brody. “Her name is Demelza Carne, from New York City. Did she not make the train?”

Brody blinked then smiled. “Oh no, she’s here, sir. Just finishing up her work before she’s free to leave.”

Ross frowned. “Work? What do you mean work?” he asked, concerned. “And what do you mean ‘free to leave’? She was sent funds to afford her second class accommodations for this journey.” He narrowed his eyes at took a step towards Brody, using his body to loom over the little man. “If you’ve somehow taken advantage of a single woman traveling alone here I will see you horsewhipped!”

Brody stepped back and held up his hands to stop Ross’s advance. “See here, sir, nothing of the kind has happened. Miss Carne and her brother agreed to work for part of their travel expenses.”

Ross froze. “Her brother?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Brody confirmed, still nervous. “She in the chuck wagon, him with the animals. Did a good job, good enough for me to consider hiring them on full time, but she said that wouldn’t be necessary. That she was marrying someone here.” He smiled up at Ross. “That you? You’re a lucky man, Mr Poldark. Girl can cook like an angel.”

Ross barely heard a word coming from the man for he’d noticed a thin young woman standing at the back of the chuck wagon. Her head was covered with a blue kerchief and she wore a positively filthy apron over her dress. Her hands moved behind her waist to untie the thing and she drew it over her head. The dress was slightly cleaner than the apron and looked to be too large for her frame. She swallowed and began to move towards him when she motioned to someone standing behind the wagon. A young man, appearing to be no more than twelve, stepped up next to her. The family resemblance was clear. Two sets of blue-green eyes stared warily at him.

“Miss Carne?” Ross whispered, disbelief clear in his tone.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza curtseyed in response the man’s inquiry. She hadn’t lived with Tom Carne for twenty years to not recognize a man in a fit of fury and that was precisely what she faced. She felt her brother step up next to her and gripped his hand tight before letting go. “Mr Poldark. Please allow me to introduce my brother, Drake.”

She’d had plenty of time to come up with ideas of what Ross Poldark would look like. Despite the anger that rolled off of him in waves, she hadn’t expected him to be as handsome as he was. Tall, broad shouldered and muscular with long, curling black hair swept back from his face by the well-fitting cowboy hat worn low on his forehead. His eyes were in shadow, but appeared to be very dark under strong brows. It was hard to tell what his mouth looked like, with his lips thinned in anger, but the dark stubble of what would be a heavy black beard framed them.

Would she have the chance to see what they looked like? Or would she be heading back to New York in the morning?

Poldark narrowed his eyes and nodded in Drake’s direction before he approached them. She held her ground as he neared, but had to force herself not to take a step back when he reached them. She was a tall woman, but found she had to tip her head back in order to maintain eye contact. It was at that moment she noticed a vivid scar running down the left side of his face. It made him look dangerous and unpredictable, yet she found her fingers itched to trace its length. _Focus, Demelza!_

“Welcome to St Joseph, Miss Carne,” he said. His voice, deep, resonant and rich with the sound of Cornwall, was hoarse but polite. “Are you able to come with me to the boarding house now or do you still have… _work_ to do?”

The emphasis on the word “work” did not go unnoticed. A flash of temper fired up her spine. “No, Mr Poldark. Drake and I were collecting our things to head towards the boardwalk when you arrived.” She looked around Poldark to Mr Brody, who stood several feet back and fixed her with a concerned look. She shook her head. “Thank you, Mr Brody. We will be leaving now.”

Mr Brody hustled over to them and handed her a small leather pouch that clinked when he placed it in her hand. “It was a pleasure having you and Drake on our crew, Miss Carne. Here’s a little something for you both.” He eyed the back of Poldark’s head then smiled up at her and tipped his hat. “Best of luck to you, now.”

_He really was a nice man_ , she thought. “To you as well, Mr Brody.” She turned back to Poldark. “We have a trunk and a couple of bags at the back.”

He nodded shortly. “I’ll get one of the hands.” He stalked off in search of assistance and Demelza blew out a breath of relief.

“I thought he was gonna kill us, Demelza,” Drake said shakily.

She snorted. “Oh, he’ll not kill us, Drake,” she asserted, mainly in an effort to convince herself of it. “He’ll want to bark at us and demand answers.” She narrowed her eyes. “ _That_ , I can give him.”

“You really should have told him about me, sister,” Drake mumbled.

She pursed her lips. “No use crying over spilled milk, brother,” she sighed. “Let’s gather our things so we’ll be ready when he returns.”

Within moments, the man was back with a young man and a cart. Drake grabbed one of the handles on the trunk. Demelza reached for the other at the same time as Poldark. Their eyes met over the top of the trunk, the air crackling with challenge. “Allow me, please, Miss Carne,” he said, his voice low. She blinked and nodded, stepping back and reaching for their bags. “The boy is here to help,” he said as he and Drake swung the trunk onto the cart. “Let him.” She blew out a frustrated sigh and stepped back from the bags, folding her arms in front of her. Once everything was loaded, Poldark turned and walked over to her. His anger had diminished to a slow, simmering brood that tightened the muscles along his strong jaw. He looked down at her and she sharply inhaled. His eyes were breath-taking, long lashed and hazel, not brown as he’d said in his letter.

She blinked in surprise when he held out his arm to her. “Shall we go?” he asked. She nodded and slipped her hand in the crook of his arm.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The door slammed in Ross’s face. He stared blankly at the dark oak wood, a thousand retorts springing to mind only to turn to ash in his mouth. He turned and walked slowly back to his own room, where he found Dwight and Geoffrey Charles waiting expectantly. “What?” Ross growled.

Dwight’s brows rose. “Well, I’m sure the slamming door was heard all the way down to the riverside,” he drawled. “What in the devil happened?”

“She _lied_ , that’s what happened,” Ross grumbled, picking up the bottle of bourbon in front of Dwight and pouring a splash in his glass.

The humour faded from Dwight’s face. “Lied about what?” he asked.

“She didn’t travel out here alone, for starters,” Ross muttered. “She’s brought a brother with her.”

Dwight blinked. “A brother? Older or younger?”

“Younger, not sure by how much,” Ross answered, sullenly sipping at his liquor. “Scrappy looking thing, if you ask me, with feet the size of sleds. He’s going to be huge by the time he finishes growing.”

“Well,” Dwight mused, swirling the amber liquid around in his glass, “might not be such a bad idea having an extra pair of hands to help clear land and build the cabin.”

Ross shifted in his seat. The logic of Dwight’s words itched around the edges of his indignation. “Then there’s her book learning.” Dwight looked up at him. “She’s nearly illiterate, Dwight! She admitted as much when I discovered she couldn’t read the sign for the boarding house!” He threw the last of the bourbon down his throat and winced. “How in the hell is she supposed to teach Geoffrey Charles if she can’t read or write?”

Dwight frowned. “How did she manage the letter?”

“Her employer helped her.” Ross put the glass down, took his hat off and vigorously scratched his scalp. His hair settled into an unruly, black mop. “The boy claims he’s been teaching her—”

“—Ah, so _one_ of them can read and write,” Dwight interrupted. “So he can teach them both, until she’s strong enough to take over.”

Ross glared at his friend through his hair. “Playing devil’s advocate, Dwight?” he scoffed sarcastically. He leaned forward on his elbows, cradled his face in his hands and tried to ignore the frisson of guilt that crept up his spine. “You are supposed to be _my_ friend.”

Dwight chuckled. “Was there anything else? I seem to recall she told you she’d been described as ‘comely’. Is she some kind of wizened old crone?” Ross froze before raising his head to meet Dwight’s eyes. “Oh. I see.”

“No, you _don’t_ see,” Ross countered, gruffly. And Dwight _couldn’t_ see, because he hadn’t had the chance to see her yet. ‘Comely’ didn’t begin to describe Demelza Carne. She was beautiful, despite being covered in a month’s worth of trail dust and wearing clothes better suited as rags. She’d said her eyes were blue, but that wasn’t anywhere near true. They reminded him of the colour of the Cornish sea, a changeable blue-green and signalled her mood as clearly as if she spoke aloud. And the last image he’d had of her – before his ears had rung with the sound of the crashing door – was of those eyes: dark as cornflowers and filled with tears.

“Did you, at least, give the girl a chance to explain herself, Ross?” Dwight asked, interrupting Ross’s brooding. He looked at his friend and frowned. “For God’s sake, Ross. The only thing you know about her is contained on a single piece of paper and whatever you managed to wheedle out of her in the time it took you to make your way here from the stage station. Is it fair to judge her a liar based on those scraps of information?”

Ross hated the disappointment he heard in Dwight’s voice, especially since he hated to admit his friend had a point. He recalled the conversation he’d had with Miss Carne. _No_ , _that was no conversation,_ he thought to himself _._ It was a self-righteous monologue directed _at_ her. He hadn’t given her the opportunity to defend herself. Or, if he were being fair, to explain why she hadn’t told him about her brother, or her inability to read. To give her the chance to share the reason why she had risked so much to put her trust in a stranger who – in less than forty-eight hours – would be her husband. _If_ they went through with it.

At that moment, Geoffrey Charles scrambled off of Dwight’s lap and onto his. “Don’t be sad, Uncle Ross,” the boy murmured, leaning against his chest and patting his cheek. Ross mood warmed under his nephew’s touch. He looked down at the sunny blond hair and touched his head, soft and delicate under his palm. _If?_ Ross thought to himself. There was no if about it, at least from his perspective. He owed his nephew the best childhood he could provide, and part of that meant he deserved to have a mother who could love and nurture him, to help him grow up to manhood. It was what Ross had wished he’d had, if the truth were told. He had to know the girl’s story, because the stakes at hand were far too high to allow his presumptive pride to get in the way of making things right with Miss Carne.

“Thank you, my lad,” Ross murmured, brushing a kiss on the boy’s temple and looked up at Dwight. “Don’t say it,” Ross muttered, narrowing his eyes at the smug satisfaction that sparkled in his friend’s eyes. He gave the boy a squeeze, swung him up for a hug and set him back on his own feet. “Keep an eye on Geoffrey Charles, will you?” Dwight nodded and tickled the lad, who erupted in squeals of laughter that lifted Ross’s spirits as he left the room.

He almost turned back twice before mentally haranguing himself for his apprehension and continued down the hall to the room he’d arranged for Miss Carne. His hand hovered near the door for several seconds before he finally knocked. He heard footsteps approach and swallowed at the squeak of the doorknob. The door opened a crack and a blue-green eye peered out and up at him. The crack widened and Ross found himself staring into the blue-green eyes of _Master_ Carne. “Oh. It’s you,” the boy’s voice croaked with the sound of encroaching manhood.

Ross nodded. “Yes, it’s me…” He stopped, for he realized he did not know her brother’s name. “Er…what should I call you?”

“Drake,” disclosed a voice from behind the door. The boy looked sharply to his left and frowned as feminine fingers curled around the edge of the door and pulled it open. Miss Carne hadn’t yet changed out of her travel clothing, but had removed the kerchief from her hair and washed her face of the road dust. Her hair was the colour of the leaves in autumn, every shade of red reflected in the long, curling strands. She had strong, sharp cheekbones accentuating the graceful curve of her face. Her eyes were red and puffy, but full of temper.

“Mr Poldark?” she said. Her voice quavered on the second syllable and her eyes sparkled with fresh tears.

“Please, don’t cry,” Ross hastily pleaded and automatically reached out to brush a tear from her cheek. She pulled back with a gasp and he snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, but he forged ahead. “I am sorry, Miss Carne, for my earlier abominable behaviour.” He was grateful his voice sounded clear and strong, given the state of his roiling stomach. “You were newly arrived after several weeks of travel and I…I failed to give you a chance to get settled before we had a chance to get to know one another.”

She looked at him, silent for several seconds. Her brother stepped forward to stand behind her, glaring at Ross over her shoulder. “We don’t need him, Demelza,” Drake spat before placing his hand on her shoulder.

She turned and gave the boy a tremulous smile. “We owe him the money he sent to bring us here, Drake,” she pointed out wearily.

“We can find work here,” Drake declared with a nod. “Pay him back for his trouble,” he continued with a jerk of the head in Ross’s direction. Ross had to respect her brother’s willingness to defend her, even at his young age.

“Drake,” she murmured softly, touching him gently before she turned back to Ross. She studied him; long enough to make him nervously shift his weight on his feet, and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her lips were full, red. Ross found himself staring at them a moment too long, because she blushed from his attentions. “Mr Poldark,” she began, “I appreciate your apology, thank you.” Ross nodded. “And you are right, there are things about me that you should know before you make any decisions about…” She swallowed and furrowed her fair brows. “About our agreement.”

“The same is true for myself,” he agreed with a sigh. He looked out the window at the end of the hallway, an idea forming in his head. “Mrs Sherman serves supper at seven o’clock,” Ross said, checking his pocket watch. “We have about an hour and a half before then.” He took a deep breath and met her eyes squarely. “Would you agree to join me for a walk in the garden before we eat, Miss Carne?”

She blinked in surprise and the corner of her mouth lifted in a wary smile. “I would like that, Mr Poldark,” she said softly.

“Should I come with you, Demelza?”

Drake’s voice startled Ross, for he’d forgotten the boy was there. She shook her head. “Thank you, Drake. I’ll be just fine.” Ross frowned at the implication that he represented some form of threat against her but made an effort to relax his body from a state of readiness. “Please give me a few minutes to freshen up, Mr Poldark.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “I shall call upon you in thirty minutes?” He touched his forelock at her nod. “Until then, Miss Carne.”

He made use of the time to wash, change into a clean shirt and waistcoat, and gave his boots a quick spit polish. He snapped a piece off of Geoffrey Charles’s peppermint stick and popped it in his mouth and headed towards the door. “Wish me luck, Dwight,” he called over his shoulder.

“Let _her_ talk, Ross,” Dwight admonished. “Good luck.

Moments later, Ross stood in front of her door, hesitating once again before knocking. “Get on with it,” he muttered to himself and rapped his knuckle on the door. It opened a second later and Ross gaped. The hair he’d admired earlier had been brushed until it shone. It curled riotously over her shoulders to midway down her back. She wore a simple, long sleeved blouse in a sunny yellow with a full skirt the colour of lilacs.

She smiled shyly at him, and the transformation stopped his breath. He realized he was staring when her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Good evening, Mr Poldark.”

“Good evening, Miss Carne,” he said, his voice sounding tight to his own hearing. “I’m afraid we’ve missed most of the light in the garden, but I could show it to you so you can find your way out there come the morning.”

“That would be fine, Mr Poldark,” she agreed. “Drake? Meet us in the dining room for supper at seven o’clock, all right?”

“I will, Demelza,” he said, giving Ross a sceptical glare.

Ross met the young man’s eyes directly. “Drake, I will be a gentleman, contrary to what you saw earlier today,” he asserted, and found he meant every single word.

The boy nodded. “Understood, Mr Poldark.” He smiled at his sister. It was an echo of her own. “See you soon, Demelza.”

Ross offered her his arm. He remembered the pressure of her slender fingers on the inside of his elbow from earlier, when he’d been filled with anger and confusion. They’d been gentle, had trembled slightly as the pads of her fingertips brushed the exposed skin of his forearm. He’d turned to look at them, so pale against his suntanned skin and a rush of yearning filled him. He was a man of strong passions in all things. It had been many months since he’d known the touch of a woman’s hand on his skin, one borne of need and intoxicated loneliness, after which he’d felt sullied. It was merely a slaking of his lust with no satisfaction. The possibility for fulfilment, in the form of marriage to this woman, warred with wounded pride as they’d made their way from the station. Pride had won out, and even now simmered in the background of this second opportunity for answers. Ross forcefully shoved it down into silence. It simply would not do.

“Shall we, Miss Carne?” he asked. She nodded shyly and tucked her hand in his arm.

They went to the garden, the last of the sun’s rays illuminating some of Mrs Sherman’s trees, flowers and bushes. Demelza was able to identify most of them, impressing him with the span of her knowledge. He found himself transfixed on her features, the smoothness of her voice and the touch of her fingers on the inside of his elbow. As they walked, he asked her to share her story with him. She did so without hesitation. When she told him about the attempted assault he clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth groan in his gums. He almost wished for Polgarry to find them so that he would have a chance to pound him into a jelly.

Ross went into the details around his decision to leave home. When he spoke of Francis’s passing her fingers tightened on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Mr Poldark,” she murmured.

“Thank you, Miss Carne,” he said, her response making the tightness of his throat more pronounced. He covered her fingers with his free hand and smiled sadly. “We were always more brothers than cousins. Even rivals for Elizabeth’s affections at one point.”

“You were?” she asked. She cocked her head and looked up at him. “She must have been extraordinary.”

Ross smiled sadly. “She was.” He blinked away the memory of her face and looked at the woman in front of him. “I was still running a little wild in those days. Francis was better suited for her.”

Demelza raised her brows. “Wild, you say?” she laughed, curiosity playfully colouring her voice.

It lifted him from his mood and he chuckled. “Oh, nothing too serious,” he admitted. “A little gaming and brawling. I did my best not to miss a shipwreck if I could.”

“I’ve never seen a shipwreck,” she said dreamily, beaming up at him. He shared a few stories as they walked back into the house and into the small sitting room adjacent to the dining room. He marvelled at the motility of her face, and enjoyed seeing the life of the story unfold in her features. They sat together on a small settee as the subject shifted to their travels from England and out to the west. He told her about Geoffrey Charles and some of the mischief he’d got into since their arrival in St Joseph. “He sounds like a perfectly lovely little boy, Mr Poldark,” she said, glancing up into his eyes. “I look forward to meeting him.”

“He’ll be with us for dinner,” Ross confirmed, “although you may find you’ll change your mind. He is a handful.” She laughed heartily when he told her of the apple pie prank and sighed compassionately when he reached the part where the lad vomited on the landlady.

“It sounds like you’ve done very well with him, especially given his great loss,” she offered. “You are to be commended.”

“I’ve done what I can,” he said modestly. He stopped and posed the question that had been troubling him the most. “Miss Carne, why didn’t you tell me of your brother?”

Her smile faded and she looked down her hands, which rested in her lap. She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his squarely. “I didn’t think you would consider me if you knew I had someone I was responsible for, Mr Poldark. Another mouth for you to feed, a back to clothe.”

He paused, considering. “I don’t think I said anything in the advertisement to indicate I _wouldn’t_ be open to discussing the prospect, Miss Carne,” he offered.

“That is true enough, Mr Poldark,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to take that chance. Drake wanted me to, but I made the final decision.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip. Ross found it in turns charming and incredibly erotic. He slammed the door on that particular impulse. “How old is the boy?” he asked, rising from the settee. He needed to think and found it easier to do so on his feet.

“He’s twelve,” she said, appearing to be a little thrown by the question. “Will be thirteen in June.”

Ross was right. The boy would be huge by the time he finished growing. “What else has he done that you think would make him helpful on a homestead?” he asked her.

Her brows came together in a slight frown and she rose to her feet. “Well, as you know, he tended the animals while we were traveling from New York,“ she said, counting off her answer by extending her index finger. “While we were in New York, he began an apprenticeship with a blacksmith. We were told he made great strides there, doing well enough for Mr Benjamin to consider offering him a full position once his apprenticeship was finished. He watched the seamen on the ship and mastered countless number of knots, which I’m sure will come in handy on the trail and last, but not least, he has been milking our goats since the time he was five.” By the time she’d reached the end she fairly bristled with displeasure. And Ross found the defence of her brother’s talents to be more endearing than anything else she could have said about him. “Believe me, Mr Poldark, I had every intention to tell you about my brother, if…” she said, the crackle of temper trailing off along with her voice.

Ross frowned, worried to see the becoming blush her fervour had caused to all but fade into nothingness. “If?” he encouraged.

“If you hadn’t sent the money.” Ross didn’t understand. He led her back towards the settee where they sat once again. She paused, as if she were steeling herself, and then looked up into his eyes. “I figured I would have had the chance to exchange one or two more letters with you before you made an offer to me and we would leave to join you here. During that time I would have had a chance to explain the circumstances we were in.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “A few days before I received your response, we’d received a letter from our father,” she confessed. “We hadn’t corresponded with anyone from home since we arrived, so his letter came as a complete shock to both of us.”

Ross felt the hair stand on the back of his neck, for he could see what was coming. “He threatened to send Polgarry after you.”

She nodded emphatically. “I was preparing for us to leave the city, to move anywhere our savings would take us when your letter arrived,” she said quickly. “As soon as it arrived we made immediate arrangements to depart. We needed another fifty dollars to secure Drake’s fare so we agreed to work for part of our passage—”

“—As Mr Brody said yesterday,” Ross surmised, his regret for his horrible behaviour doubling on itself.

She reached for his hand. “My employer allowed us to stay with them so we could save our weekly rent,” Demelza continued. “We left New York shortly after that.”

He was surprised by the strength held in her fingers and covered it once again with his own. “I understand, Miss Carne, and am once again very sorry for jumping to conclusions. It is clear you did what you needed to do to keep you both safe.” He gave her hand a squeeze and decided to confess something to her, if only to see her smile once again. “For the record, your letter was the only letter I answered.”

“Mine? Truly?” she blurted in shock.

Her mouth gaped open and he could not have stopped the bark of laughter that sprang from his chest if he’d tried. “Truly, Miss Carne,” he said, still chuckling. He stopped, enjoying the pleasure of laughing and sharing a conversation with a pretty lady. “And I still would have had you join me, even if I had known about Drake.”

“Oh, Mr Poldark,” she said softly, her voice breaking. Ross blanched as he saw a silvery tear track down her face. _God, not again_ , he thought to himself. He offered her his handkerchief and he sat, fidgeting, as she dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry, it was such a worry of mine. I should not have assumed you would object.”

She handed the handkerchief back to him. He shook his head. “Please, keep it, Miss Carne.” They were quiet for a moment before Ross raised the second question on his mind. “And the reading and writing?”

She sighed. “I had to stop going to school when Drake was born. I can read and write some, but still have trouble with joined together letters and fancy letters—”

“—Like the ones on the sign for the boarding house,” Ross finished, understanding becoming clear. God. He truly _was_ a horse’s ass.

She nodded. “I am better now than I was when I first sent the letter. Drake will tell you, I’m a quick study. I practiced at night on the trail after we finished our chores.” She looked up at him, her eyes clear and direct. “I promise you, Mr Poldark, if you are still interested in going forward with our arrangement, I will do everything I can to be prepared to teach Geoffrey Charles.”

Ross considered her promise seriously. He’d been honest about welcoming Drake along for the journey if he’d known about the young man’s existence. Dwight was absolutely right: Ross would have been scrambling to get a structure secure enough to withstand the winter if he were working on his own. He had hoped to convince – or coerce – Dwight into helping him with some of the heavy work, but his friend would be busy enough getting his practice established in the region to have much time to put in on Ross’s homestead. But he’d been clear that he needed a wife who would be able to educate Geoffrey Charles and any other children that came along. Would she be able to do this? From what he’d encountered it was clear she was bright and very resourceful. And couldn’t he spend time with her while they travelled to help with her learning? His own needs hadn’t changed since he’d placed the advertisement and, if one were to ignore the issue of literacy, Demelza Carne fit the bill perfectly. Smart, pretty, and knew how to raise and care for children and a household.

“Miss Carne, will you agree to be my wife?

The words were out of his mouth before he’d even had a chance to think, and found he felt a little lightheaded. She blinked several times before smiling, its brilliance making her eyes sparkle. “Yes, Mr Poldark, I will.”

Ross relaxed muscles he hadn’t known were tensed and exhaled. He picked up her hand and gave it a quick squeeze before raising it to his lips. He brushed a kiss across her knuckles, meeting her eyes with his and heard her sharp intake of breath. “Mr Poldark,” she breathed.

He grinned. “Please call me Ross,” he murmured.

“Ross,” she said, and he found the throaty way she’d said it intoxicating. “Please call me Demelza.”

He gave her hand another kiss. “Thank you, Demelza.” They rose from the couch and stood within inches of one another. He itched to kiss her, but thought better of it for now. “May I ask a favour?”

She blinked. “Of course, Ross.”

“I would like to wait until tomorrow to announce our decision.”

She furrowed her brows for a moment before nodding. “We should speak with Geoffrey Charles first, before anyone else.” He smiled, pleased with her deduction. She touched his arm. “May I tell Drake later tonight, when we retire for the evening?”

“Yes, of course,” he agreed. “I would like us to spend the day with you both, to spend time for him to become better acquainted with you, to become used to the idea. But I would like for us to marry the day after tomorrow.”

Her eyes widened. “So soon?”

He nodded, curious at the shock he’d heard in her voice. “Our wagon train leaves for the territory in ten days and we have a great deal to do before we are ready to leave. It will be easier for you to help with making arrangements and purchases if you are my wife,” he explained. “Fewer questions and gossip.”

“Oh,” she murmured.

“Is there a problem, Demelza?” he asked, concern edging around his chest.

“N-no, no, not a problem,” she said, colour flooding her cheeks. “May I ask…oh, I don’t know how to say this.” She looked up at him and bit her bottom lip again. “Will you expect for our marriage to be…be…”

He felt his cheeks redden and swallowed before meeting her eyes. “One day, Demelza, I would hope for our marriage to be as full and as rich as anyone might hope, with love, contentment and children. But we’ve only known one another for a few, short hours. And I am also aware that, given your experience with Polgarry, you may be hesitant about the physical aspects of marriage.” Her chin had dropped when he mentioned the bastard’s name and rage for a man he’d never met boiled in his gut. He reached out to capture her chin between his thumb and index finger, raising her jade-green eyes to meet his. “I could kill him for doing that to you,” he whispered, then released her chin to take hold of her hand. “And I promise I _will_ kill him, if he should ever come after you. Do you believe me?”

She nodded. “Yes, Ross, I do. I pray he doesn’t.” She reached up and placed the palm of her hand against his chest. Ross was certain she could feel his heart thundering beneath her palm. “I don’t want what happened to hold me captive from being your wife, Ross. I have heard of how that can be for some women. But…”

“You may need some time,” he finished. She looked up at him, eyes filled with sadness. “I have a suggestion.”

“Yes, Ross?” she asked, her voice uncertain.

“I propose we…postpone consummating our marriage until you are ready.” It pained him greatly to make this suggestion, but also knew he could no sooner insist on asserting his marital rights than he could abandon Geoffrey Charles. “In the meantime, I will court you, as if we were newly acquainted.”

“You will court me?” she said, incredulously. “Do you mean you will pay me compliments, give me gifts and flowers and such?”

He laughed and nodded. “Well, it may be difficult to give you gifts and flowers when we’re in the middle of nowhere, but I will do what I can to show you my intentions to honour you as my wife.” He touched her outer shoulder, his thumb rubbing lightly against her collarbone. It was the first caress he’d shared with her, a clearly declared gesture of his intentions towards her. He saw her swallow hard, but was pleased her eyes showed no fear of him, and remained fixed on his own. “We will share a bed after our wedding.” He saw her swallow hard. “Not only is it the custom and would be expected of us, but I think it will be important _for_ us, as part of our courtship. But you will be the one to determine when we take that final step together.” He smiled, repeating his gentle caress of her arm. “Are we agreed?”

“It’s a splendid idea, Ross,” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Thank you!”

He smiled down into her animated face. “I would ask one thing.” She nodded happily. “As soon as we exchange vows, I ask that I could share a kiss with you, twice each day. To wish you good morning and to bid you good night.”

Her cheeks pinkened and she dimpled. “That’s two things.” He opened his mouth to protest, but was stopped by her giggles. “Agreed, Ross.”

He sighed with relief, pleasantly surprised to see this teasing, impish side to her personality. “Thank you, my dear.” She blinked at the endearment and he arched an eyebrow at her. “The courtship has begun.” He checked his pocket watch. “We should go in for supper.”

She peered up at him through her lashes and took his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ch 3 Notes: Thanks to all of you who are supporting this story and all the support and encourage Rainpuddle and xxSparksxx give me. Please let me know if you have any questions about some of the things in here.
> 
> Believe it or not, there was another 3000 words written for this one. Then my lovely beta Rainpuddle suggested I split it in half! Just have a bit more to add to that one and it will be done. That means you'll get another chapter soon. 
> 
> No wedding this time, but definitely next time. Enjoy!


	4. Matrimony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good news? Another chapter, all ready for you! The bad news? Well.... just keep reading...

Supper was a delightful affair. Mrs Sherman had set up three of the tables together to allow Dwight, the Poldarks and Carnes to sit together for their meal. Ross and Demelza exchanged conspiratorial glances with one another throughout the meal, and he discovered she could manage to get under his skin without even realizing it. The sparkle of her laughter and the flash of her eyes warmed him, forcing him to hide smile after smile behind his napkin. Geoffrey Charles was somewhat shy around the new strangers at first, but began to be more like his normal precocious self as the meal went on. After supper, Ross, Demelza, Drake, and Geoffrey Charles climbed the stairs to their rooms. Ross explained he and Geoffrey Charles had been on the second floor, but he’d made arrangements to move into rooms on the top floor when he received word of her arrival.

Not that it had been easy to do so. The rooms on the top floor of boarding house had been intended to be the master bedchamber for Mr and Mrs Sherman, with an adjoining room for a nursery. After Mr Sherman’s passing, his widow converted the rest of the building into a boarding house, but reserved the top floor as it was to offer it to more well-to-do clientele. When Ross had approached her with the request, Mrs Sherman nearly fainted with laughter.

_“You? In my very best room in the house?” she snorted. “With that… that… whirling dervish of a boy of yours?”_

_Ross’s cheeks burned with annoyance, but he tamped down the impulse he had to unleash his sharp tongue. Barely. “Mrs Sherman, I am anticipating the arrival of my bride,” he’d said, crossing his fingers behind his back._

_She goggled. “Your…bride, Mr Poldark?”_

_He nodded. “Yes ma’am,” he confirmed. “I have been meaning to speak with you about this for some time. Her name is Miss Demelza Carne and she will arrive from New York on the fifteenth. We plan to marry as soon as she arrives, and…” He paused for effect and prayed he could maintain his composure, because all he really wanted to do was laugh. “Well, we start six months on the trail two weeks after we marry and I had hoped for us to have a little time together under civilized conditions to remember along the way.”_

_“My boy,” she interrupted, patting his arm, “you don’t have to say another word.” She happily put on her spectacles to confirm the room’s availability in her ledger book. Ross grinned. He really could be a charming bastard when he put his mind to it._

_Demelza and Drake would share the master bedchamber until after the wedding. Mrs Sherman set Ross and Geoffrey Charles up in the adjoining nursery. She fixed him with a steely glare and held up a skeleton key. “I am locking this door from the other side, Mr Poldark. There will be no…no…” she lowered her voice as she looked at Geoffrey Charles, “fornication under my roof.”_

Unfortunately, Geoffrey Charles had exceptional hearing. He proceeded to ask Ross what “four-knee-cake-son” meant for the next two hours.

After supper, they spent some time together in the tiny nursery, giving the two boys a chance to get to know one another. It also gave Demelza a chance to see Geoffrey Charles in a more natural state. He would run over to the small chest of toys they’d collected, select a toy and run back over to share with the Carnes. Ross observed as time went on, the lad would stand closer and closer to Demelza until, to everyone’s surprise, he scrambled up into her lap and leaned against her. She looked up in amazement at Ross and Drake, and then wrapped her arms around the boy to pull him close. He was fast asleep within moments.

It wasn’t too long after that Drake gave a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. Ross looked at the clock on the dresser and discovered it was nearly ten o’clock. “I think we should call it a night,” he said softly, reaching to take Geoffrey Charles from Demelza.

“May I help settle him in, Ross?” she murmured. She rested her cheek against his soft blond hair, her eyes half closed with pleasure.

He nodded, moved by the image they created in front of him. He helped her slip the little boy out of his shoes and shorts and tucked him into his cot. He marvelled at the economy of her movements and the natural way she had with the boy. And it was clear the lad had been taken with her, which would make the transition to their new lives easier.

“I was right,” she whispered, giving the boy’s head a final caress. “He is a lovely little boy, Ross.”

He touched her elbow, saw Drake sit up a little straighter in the armchair and chose to ignore it. “He likes you very much, Demelza – or, Miss Dede, I should say,” he teased. Geoffrey Charles had not been able to manage her name, despite trying several times, with hilarious results.

She covered her mouth and giggled. “Oh, that was delightful!” Her eyes twinkled up at him. “I’ve never had a nickname before.”

“Yes you have, Demelza!” Drake piped in. “Don’t you remember Sam used to call you Me—”

Demelza fired a blistering glance in her brother’s direction. It made Ross hope he was never on the receiving end of a similar one. He cleared his throat. “I’ll…er…walk you both to your room.”

Demelza arched a brow at him and, narrowing her eyes at her brother, shook her head. “That’s quite alright, Ross,” she said, walking over and tugging her brother out of the chair. “We’ll make our way to our room. Thank you for a lovely evening. Drake?” She gave him a prod.

“Thank you, Mr Poldark,” Drake said sleepily.

Ross nodded. “Thank you for taking such good care of your sister, Drake.” The young man paused then nodded. “Breakfast is usually around seven o’clock, however I’ve asked Mrs Sherman if our party could have it a little later than usual. Will nine o’clock suit?”

Drake moaned, the relief on his face downright comical. “I haven’t been able to sleep in that late since forever,” the young man said with deep appreciation. “Thank you!”

Ross looked at Demelza’s face and laughed again at her embarrassed flush. “I’ll see the two of you in the morning. Sleep well.”

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“It’s about time you woke up, sleepyhead,” Demelza said from her seat in front of the vanity when Drake yawned from his camp bed. She’d been awake for over an hour after a fitful night’s sleep. She assumed that was typical for any bride the night before her wedding day.

Her brother stretched and yawned again. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight o’clock,” she said. She threaded a needle and turned her attention to the hem of the trousers she was adjusting for him. At the rate he was growing she was going to have to make him several new pairs of pants before they headed west! She glanced over her shoulder and laughed. Her brother’s hair was standing up straight on one side of his head. “Can you go down and bring up some breakfast for me?”

He frowned at her. “What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Breakfast, Drake,” she repeated. “Can you go downstairs and bring up some break—” They were interrupted by three sharp knocks on the door. She tucked the thread in the trouser hem and, glowering at her slow-moving sibling, rose to see who was calling on them at this hour of the day. “Oh! Mrs Sherman.”

The landlady stood at the door with a tray of breakfast pastries, a cup of coffee and a glass vase filled with lilacs. “Good morning, young lady,” the older woman said briskly, hustling in and setting the tray down on the end of the bed. “Mr Poldark asked me if I would bring this to you this morning.”

Demelza smiled with surprise. “Thank you, Mrs Sherman! I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you.”

Mrs Sherman mopped her brow with a handkerchief she pulled from her sleeve. “No trouble, at all, Miss Carne. After all, you can’t have your breakfast in the dining room this morning! Groom can’t be seeing you before the wedding, you know.” She looked at Drake, who’d pulled the blankets up to his chin as soon as the landlady entered the room. “Young man, you bring that tray down when you come for breakfast. Then bring up a pitcher of hot water for your sister to use for her toilette.”

“Her what?” Drake said.

“Her bath, son!” Mrs Sherman snapped. Demelza snorted with laughter, camouflaging it with a cough. “The judge will be here at eleven o’clock, Miss Carne. I assume your brother will escort you to the sitting room?” They hadn’t discussed it, but Demelza nodded, liking the idea. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it.” She nodded, turned on her heel and exited the room.

Demelza blinked several times before walked over to the bed and looked at the pretty tray of food prepared. The coffee smelled divine, and Demelza closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent smell. She picked up the tray, set it on the vanity table and tucked in with abandon. She was taking a sip of coffee when she caught Drake’s eyes staring at her. She swallowed. “Is something the matter?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just figured you’d be nervous,” he said. “You barely touched your supper last night.”

They’d spent the day with the Poldarks, walking around St Joseph introducing her to the merchants from whom they would purchase supplies to take with them for the territory. They’d visited the stables and stockyard and walked along the riverside. Later at supper that evening, she’d nudged the food around on her plate for most of their meal. Soon after dessert, Ross had risen to his feet and placed his hand on Demelza’s shoulder. His thumb had brushed the nape of her neck with such intimacy that she’d shivered. His fingers had tightened in response and he looked down at her, brows furrowed with concern. She’d smiled up at him, hoping she’d masked her apprehension. He’d frowned, but proceeded to tap his spoon against his wine glass. “Everyone, I am happy to announce that Miss Demelza Carne has agreed to become my wife.”

There were cheers of congratulations and handshakes from everyone in the dining room. Ross had been gentle and attentive to her as the other residents approached her to offer their best wishes. Finally, before they retired for the evening, Mrs Sherman had sat them down to discuss what arrangements they wanted to make for the ceremony. By the time they’d finished, Demelza’s head had been swimming.

When she woke in the morning, she’d realized it wasn’t nerves that had her so quiet. _Well,_ she thought to herself, _maybe not_ all _of it._ It was Ross, and the attentions he’d paid her throughout the previous day. She’d never had anyone open doors for her, to hold her hand to help her across a puddle, and help her with her wrap. He’d been a perfect gentleman… a perfectly _handsome_ gentleman since their talk in the garden. She would never forget when she opened the door and found him standing in the hallway, a crisp, white shirt and well-fitted blue waistcoat emphasizing his lean torso, and a glorious mane of riotous black curls framing his well-sculptured face. But whenever she’d looked into his eyes, it was as if a fire simmered and glowed within the whisky-brown irises. And when he touched her, perfectly innocent and gentlemanly touches like the brush of his thumb against her neck, the warmth of his hand against her knuckles… they did funny things to her throat, her heart… and other places. She had been very glad that Ross made it clear he would not pressure her to consummate their marriage until she was prepared. The only experience she’d had with men had come in the form of Colin Polgarry, and everything he’d ever done to declare his attentions had made her shudder, and his touch on her skin? It had made her want to vomit. Now, with Ross, she found these signs and actions to be intriguing, arousing, and made her more curious that she cared to admit. After all she’d only known him for a day! What did it say about her to be wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through his wild hair and to kiss him after only knowing him a single day?

She had a _lot_ of thinking to do about all of this. She looked up at her brother and blushed. She couldn’t very well tell _him_ what she’d been thinking about. “I’m hungry because I _didn’t_ eat last night,” she said simply, sinking her teeth into the poppyseed cake and sighing with pleasure. “I must ask Mrs Sherman for the receipt for this.” She looked up and frowned to find Drake still staring at her. “What is it?”

“Are you sure you want to go through with this, Demelza?” he asked.

“Drake, we have been all over this,” she huffed angrily. “You said you gave me your blessing last night! Why this question now? Again?”

He walked over to her and took her hand. “I just want to know if you are doing this because it’s what you want to do for _you_ , and not because you need to do it for _us_.”

She opened and shut her mouth, then fixed him with a steady look. “Drake, have you ever known me to do anything I haven’t wanted to do?” He shook his head, opening his mouth to protest, but she stuffed a piece of cake into it to still his comments. “Ross and I have come to an agreement. He’s been a perfect gentleman, as he promised both of us he would be ever since he apologized. You saw it for yourself, right?” He nodded. “I am very content with the agreement and believe it will provide all of us the opportunity for a good life.”

He chewed, pondering. “You’re happy about it?” he mumbled through partially masticated cake.

She grimaced. “Yes. And don’t talk with your mouth full.” He could be such a child at times. “Is that all?”

He swallowed and nodded. “That’s all. But know that if he ever hurts you, I’ll do whatever I can to murder him.”

She eyed him through her lashes. “Fair enough. Now let me eat my breakfast so I can finish hemming your trousers.” He turned to go back to his camp bed, but was caught in her embrace before he could escape. “Thank you, Drake,” she murmured in his ear.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross swore as he scowled at his reflection and whipped the tie from around his throat for what must have been the fifth time.

“Uncle Ross!” Geoffrey Charles said, shocked. “You swatted my bum when I said that yesterday!”

“Yes, I most certainly did, my lad,” Ross said, arching a look at his nephew, who fidgeted in his frock coat and tugged at his own collar. The boy had mimicked the word after Drake yelped it aloud, his foot having found its way into a pile of horse droppings during their afternoon together. Ross had initially thought Demelza, who’d stood next to him red-faced, coughing and spluttering, had been horrified. She later admitted she’d been doing her best to mask her laughter. Ross grinned at the memory, and then straightened his face to glower parentally at his nephew. “It’s a word grownups are allowed to say under certain circumstances.”

Such as when you’ve five minutes before you’re to be married and are being thwarted by a strip of material. He raised his eyes back to his reflection and, for the sixth time, began to secure his cravat.

He hadn’t worn any of his old, formal clothing since they’d left England, and he thought about how ridiculous and ostentatious it all was in comparison to the simplicity of the attire most appropriate for the American west. He may have wished to be slipping into a collarless shirt and chambray trousers, however it simply would not suit for the occasion. He only planned to marry once, and he would do it properly. Besides, she deserved it. The more he’d learned about Demelza the more Ross found himself admiring her courage, her defence of her brother and her willingness to entrust their safety into his care. And he found himself nearly overwhelmed by the responsibility. Nearly. But the responsibility he had to the little boy who stood behind him gave him the courage to proceed.

He gave the cravat a final tug and nodded. He plucked the black dress coat off the chair and slipped it on, brushing his hands over the shoulders to smooth the fit. He ran his fingers through the long, brown-black strands of his head and turned to face his nephew. “Am I presentable, Geoffrey Charles?” he asked teasingly, but acknowledged he could use a positive word of encouragement. He frowned when he looked down to find the boy sitting on the side of the bed, his eyes focused on his lap. Ross walked over, knelt on one knee and touched the boy’s knee. “What is the matter, Geoffrey Charles?”

The boy lifted troubled blue eyes to meet his. “Did Miss Dede die, Uncle Ross?”

Ross was thunderstruck. He narrowed his eyes in confusion. “Why on earth did you ever come up with that idea?” he asked incredulously.

“Because you are wearing that coat,” the boy whispered, pointing to Ross’s coat. “You wore it when Mama died and you wore it when Papa died.” He paused, tears tracking down his full cheeks. “It’s been gone since Papa died.”

Ross closed his eyes. _The poor boy_ , he thought to himself. His life has been a whirlwind of radical change in such a short period of time. He sighed and sat down next to his nephew, drawing the boy up onto his lap. He pulled out a handkerchief and gave it to the lad. “Geoffrey Charles, you’re right,” he admitted, “I wore it when we said goodbye to your father. I only wear it for very special and important occasions.” He dabbed and the boy’s tears. “When we put on these kinds of clothes it is a sign of respect for the people we will be with.” He paused, swallowing. “Saying goodbye to your father was one of the saddest days of my life, a very important occasion indeed.”

“I miss my papa!” the boy wept and wrapped his arms around Ross’s waist as best as he could.

“I miss him, too,” Ross said, his voice rough with emotion. He drew the boy’s head closer to his chest, rocking him back and forth until his sobs subsided. They sat quietly for a moment, and Ross leaned down to dry his nephew’s cheeks and help him blow his nose.

“Weddings are important?” Geoffrey Charles said a little hoarsely.

Ross nodded, hoping to lighten his nephew’s spirits. “Yes, they are very important. And remember, _this_ one is especially important, for both you and me, my lad.” He smiled down into the curious face. “Miss Dede will become my wife and your aunt.”

“What is a wife?”

Ross thought for a moment. “Do you remember when I told you Miss Dede and her brother will be coming with us on our trip in the wagon?” Geoffrey Charles nodded. “Well, in order for her to travel with us she will need to marry me. A judge will read some words out of a book, and Miss Dede and I will say some words to each other. I’ll give her a ring she will wear for always. Then she will be, for me, like your mama was for your papa.” He looked and saw understanding in the boy’s eyes. “She will live with us, and will help me build a home for us and take care of you as you grow up.”

“Will she sleep with you like mama and papa?” Geoffrey Charles asked. “So when I get scared at night I can come and sleep with you and Miss Dede?”

“We can talk about that later,” Ross said, feeling his cheeks warm. “In any event, after today, you can call her Aunt Dede. She will be a very important person for both of us.”

The boy chewed on his bottom lip then looked up at Ross. “Am I important?”

Ross’s heart warmed. “You are very important, too, Geoffrey Charles. So important that you will be standing up next to me when we see the judge today.”

“I will?” Geoffrey Charles beamed at him.

“Yes, you will. You’re my best man after all.”

Geoffrey Charles squeezed Ross around the waist. “I love you, Uncle Ross.”

He gave his nephew a big hug and kissed him on the top of his head. “I love you too, lad.” He ruffled the sunny blond hair and slid the boy from his lap to stand. “Now,” Ross said, rising to his feet. He reached into his watch pocket, drew out a small gold ring and squatted to be at his nephew’s eye level. “This is the ring I just told you about. I need you to put this in your pocket and keep it there until I ask you for it, all right, Geoffrey Charles?” The boy nodded vigorously and Ross chuckled before rising to his feet. He buttoned his coat, took a final look in the mirror and exhaled a shaky breath. “Let’s go get married, my boy.”

 

Ross stood in front of the fireplace, his back to the arched entryway for the sitting room and heard the bottom stair squeak. The nerves had struck him like a runaway horse when he walked into the room and saw Dwight talking with Murphy Dunlop, the local justice of the peace. Ross liked Dunlop, one of the men he’d played cards with on Wednesday nights, despite the man’s lack of hygiene. He was happy to see the man had visited the bathhouse last night and wore a clean suit. Ross didn’t think Mrs Sherman would have had enough lilacs to mask the smell.

His heart felt like it was hammering through his chest. His mind raced back to the autumn, when Dwight first suggested he place an advertisement for a mail order bride. How he’d scoffed over the idea, the absurdity of it all, and now? Here he was, admittedly willing and eager for the life change that awaited him within moments.

He frowned when Geoffrey Charles tugged on the hem of his coat. “What is it, lad?” he rasped, clearing his throat.

“Miss Dede!” he said, in awe. Ross turned around and found himself as dumbstruck as his nephew.

Demelza stood framed in the archway, with Drake standing tall next to her, wearing a beautiful blue gingham dress that emphasized the colour of her eyes. It had to have been made for her, the fit of the dress following her graceful curves of her body to perfection. Her hair curled in soft waves around her shoulders. She smiled at him as she came to stand next to him, the small bouquet of flowers from Mrs Sherman’s garden trembling nervously in her hand.

“Good morning, Demelza,” Ross whispered, admiring the dusting of freckles across her nose. “You look beautiful today, my dear.”

She blushed prettily. “Oh, Ross,” she said, quietly, looking up into his eyes. “You are very handsome, sir.” She shifted her gaze to the blond-headed boy staring up at them standing next to him. “And so are you, Geoffrey Charles.”

The boy dimpled at her and ducked his head against Ross’s leg. He felt the corner of his mouth twitch up into a smile before he shifted his gaze to Drake. He extended his hand. “I promise to take care of her and welcome you to my family.”

Drake nodded and shook Ross’s hand. “Thank you, Ross,” he said. He kissed his sister on the cheek, gave Ross her hand and stepped back to stand next to Dwight. Ross tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. He touched the back of Geoffrey Charles’s head and the three of them stepped forward to stand in front of Justice Dunlop.

“Are we ready to begin, Mr Poldark? Miss Carne?” Justice Dunlop asked. They both nodded their heads. Dunlop smiled and opened his book. “Ross Vennor Poldark and Demelza Carne, today you celebrate one of life’s greatest moments and give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, as you join together in vows of marriage.”

Ross glanced at Demelza’s profile and was marvelling over the length of her eyelashes when he heard someone clearing his throat. He jerked his head around to find the justice peering over his glasses at him. “I’m sorry, Mur-I mean, Justice Dunlop, what did you say?”

The justice chuckled. “I said Ross, do you take Demelza to be your Wife?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed with a jump. Demelza giggled. “Yes, I do.” He covered the hand on his arm with his own and gave it a squeeze.

“Do you promise to love, honour, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?”

“Yes, I do,” Ross murmured. He looked into her eyes, blue-green and shimmering with unshed tears.

Dunlop turned to his bride. “Demelza, do you take Ross to be your Husband?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said so softly she was asked to repeat it. Her cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, I do,” she said clearly, holding Ross’s gaze with her own.

“Do you promise to love, honour, cherish and obey him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?

“Yes, I do.” She beamed at him. Ross felt like he could breathe again.

“Is there a ring?” Dunlop asked?

“Oh yes,” Ross said, startled again. He crouched down next to Geoffrey Charles and held out his hand. The little boy scrabbled around his pocket for what felt like a lifetime before he withdrew his hand. “Thank you, lad,” he whispered and touched the boy on his head before standing once again. He looked at Demelza, whose dark blue eyes were fixed on the small gold ring in his palm. “It belonged to my mother. She wanted my wife to have it.”

“Oh, Ross,” she said, tearfully. She sighed as his thumb stroked her cheek, brushing her tears from her face. “Thank you.”

Dunlop touched Ross’s arm. “Shall we proceed?” Ross nodded, not breaking his eye contact with Demelza. “Please repeat after me: ‘I, Ross, take thee, Demelza to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, and I promise to love you all the days of our lives. With this ring, I thee wed.’”

“I, Ross, take thee, Demelza to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, and I promise to love you all the days of our lives.” Ross slipped the ring on her finger and he was very pleased to find it a perfect fit. He captured her hand between his. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“Ross and Demelza, in so much as the two of you have agreed to live together in Matrimony, have promised your love for each other by these vows, I now declare you to be Man and Wife,” Dunlop said happily. “You make kiss the bride.”

Ross looked down into Demelza’s happy eyes. _His wife!_ he thought to himself. He grinned. “Good morning, Mrs Poldark,” he murmured. Her eyes widened as his head descended to capture her lips with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I'm awful. I'm a mean, mean girl. Blame rainpuddle. No, seriously, there's a lot that happens in the next bit so this was really the best spot to end this chapter. I promise you will have it soon. 
> 
> Many thanks to those of you who have given me kudos and comments on the previous chapters and for all of your encouragement to continue with this story. My gratitude to rainpuddle and xxsparksxx for being my fic buddies and advisors. Their input always helps these chapters to be even better. 
> 
> A couple of questions for you: what was Demelza's childhood nickname? And how long do you think Demelza will keep Ross to his two-kisses-per-day promise? Discuss....


	5. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Demelza didn’t have time to close her eyes before Ross’s mouth captured hers, but they drifted shut as she sighed against him. He was intoxicating, tasting of peppermint and scented of bay rum and leather. Her hands rested on his chest, and she felt the strong beating of his heart through her palms. The pressure of his lips on hers was soft, insistent and gone far sooner than she would have liked.

“Ross,” she breathed and opened her eyes. She was greeted by smiling, deep green eyes the colour of the forests in Cornwall. The heat of his broad hands on her upper arms warmed her skin through the sleeves of her dress, yet made her shiver. “So changeable.”

“What?” he asked, his brows quirking in confusion at her statement.

_Judas, had she said that out loud?_ “Your eyes,” she said, blushing as she watched them warm with tones of gold. “They change.”

Ross chuckled and brushed the tip of his nose against hers, which made her giggle. He smiled broadly, his teeth flashing white against his olive skin. “Shall we greet our guests, my dear?” he asked. He slid his hands down her arms to clasp hers.

“Y-Yes, we should,” she stammered, regaining her composure enough to remember they were not alone. She turned and looked down at Geoffrey Charles, who stood between them, smiling mischievously up at them. She breathed a sigh of relief. _I’m not sure how to handle myself as Ross’s wife yet, but being an aunt?_ she thought to herself. This _I can do._ She crouched, her skirts pooling around her like the petals of a flower. “Can I have a kiss from my nephew, Geoffrey Charles?” He nodded happily and flung himself into her arms. She squealed with joy, wobbling a little and came close to losing her balance. Strong hands touched her shoulders to steady her and she felt Ross kneel down behind her. Geoffrey Charles’s little pursed lips pressed hers and she felt her heart tumble into his hands.

“Auntie Dede,” he said with a giggle. What a precious, wee lad he was. “You kissed Uncle Ross!”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” she laughingly agreed and felt Ross’s hand move from the base of her spine to rest between her shoulder blades. Each touch seemed to turn her head into pudding and she blinked to regain her focus. “It was very nice.”

“It was?” a deep voice spoke softly in her ear as he leaned in closer, his chest brushing against her back. The heat of his body warmed her, made her wish to lean back against him.

She turned her head to look at her new husband out of the corner of her eye. “Yes. Quite.” He looked at her mouth and licked his lips. _Pudding!_

He laughed again and scooped Geoffrey Charles out of her arms, braced the boy on his hip and held out his other hand to help her up. “Let’s go join our guests in the dining room, my dear.”

Mrs Sherman had prepared a lovely wedding dinner of succulent roast pork, green beans and potatoes for their intimate party of six. Demelza enjoyed hearing the others share their thoughts about the wedding, for it was lovely to see it through their eyes. Drake said it had happened so quickly he’d barely had enough time to sit down before they were pronounced man and wife. Mrs Sherman said she’d been too emotional to be able to give her a clear recollection, only saying that she wished her dearly departed husband Ernest had been there to share it.

She finally turned to Ross and found him encouraging Geoffrey Charles – seated between them – to have another green bean, with unsatisfactory results. She touched the boy’s head. “Geoffrey Charles, your Uncle Ross is very tall and strong isn’t he?”

“Yes, he is, Auntie Dede,” he agreed.

“Well, do you know how he got to be so tall and strong?” He shook his head. “He ate his green beans,” she whispered. The boy whipped his head around to look up at his uncle, who sombrely nodded as if on cue. Geoffrey Charles wrinkled his nose, picked up a green bean with his fingers, and stuffed it into his mouth. The expression on his face as he chewed was one Demelza wished she could have sketched for perpetuity. Ross’s shoulders shook with laughter, and she felt his thumb stroke her back once again as he mouthed “thank you” over the boy’s shuddering head.

After coffee, tea, and a delicious almond cake were served both Dwight and the Justice stood up to take their leave. Ross walked them both to the door while Demelza attempted to help clear the table. Mrs Sherman insisted that she relax, which was why Demelza was sitting on the couch in the sitting room, Geoffrey Charles nestled against her, his head nodding from sleep when Ross came back from the front porch.

He tilted his head towards his nephew. “It was that second piece of cake,” he said softly.

Demelza grinned up at him. “Probably so.”

“We should take him upstairs,” Ross suggested, walking over to gently scoop Geoffrey Charles up into his arms.

_Upstairs._ Demelza’s mouth went dry and she heard nothing past that word. After all, it was only the early afternoon! Far too soon for…She shook her head and looked up at her new husband to find him frowning. She smiled up at him nervously, hoping he hadn’t caught the moment of panic that _must_ have crossed her features. “What did you say, Ross?”

His frown deepened. “I said let’s put the boy to bed for his nap, and then we shall talk,” he whispered, shifting the boy’s sleep-limp body to rest cradled against his chest.

_How embarrassing_ , she thought to herself. “Of course.” She rose to her feet and walked towards the stairs. She felt Ross and the boy’s presence a pace behind her all the way up to the third floor. She turned and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Ross. I’ve been a little distracted.” _That_ much was true. “Can I open the door for you?”

“Certainly, thank you,” he said, softly. She found herself incredibly moved by the image of his broad hand spanning the width of Geoffrey Charles’s back and brushed it with her fingertips before reaching for the handle. Ross walked through the door and came to a halt, leaving Demelza to collide with his back.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, rubbing her nose and peering around him to see Drake laying his clothes on the bed. “Drake!” Demelza hissed, peering up at her sleeping nephew. “What are you doing?”

“Moving out of the other room, of course,” he said matter-of-factly. He shut his bag and set it on the floor. “I knew we needed to do some rearranging, so I thought I would get started.”

“Thank you, Drake,” she said, crossing over to give him a hug. “We need to put Geoffrey Charles down for a nap. Can you do this quietly enough?”

“He’s a sound sleeper, for the most part,” Ross said, heading over to the cot. Demelza joined him, and the two of them removed Geoffrey Charles’s frock coat and shoes, finding their eyes meeting as they moved through the tasks, and settled him in. “Actually,” Ross said softly as he stood up from the boy’s side, “I would like to talk with the two of you about our trip. We can use the parlour at the end of the hallway.” He motioned towards the hallway. “Shall we?”

Demelza and Drake nodded. “Excellent,” Ross said, smiling brilliantly. “Please head to the parlour and I will be with you momentarily.” Ross walked over to the dresser to rifle through a sheaf of papers from the top as she and Drake left the room, heading to the small, sunny parlour that served as a breakfast nook area for the suite.

“Do you have any idea what he wants to talk about?” Drake asked.

She shook her head. “No, this is the first I’ve heard of it, but we haven’t been here very long!” she observed. “And now that the wedding is over, it makes sense that we should discuss the details of the trip.” She looked back at the door. “He looked to have a whole lot of papers he was looking through.”

Drake picked up on her nervousness. “Don’t worry, Demelza, I’ll help, I promise.”

She patted him on the hand. “I know you will,” she said. “But I want to try my best to see how much I can do on my own. He was very understanding about my troubles—”

“—Once he got over his first impressions,” Drake said ruefully.

“That is true,” she agreed, “but I need to prove to him that going ahead with the marriage was worth it.”

“Well, you and Geoffrey Charles are getting along very well,” he said objectively.

Demelza furrowed her brow. “Do you like him, Drake? We will be spending a considerable amount of time in one another’s company and I imagine he will begin to see you more as a big brother than a cousin, as time goes on. Will that be maddening for you?”

He shook his head. "No, not at all.” He covered her hand. “I’ve always been the baby of the family,” Drake sighed. “It will be a nice change of pace to not be the one on the receiving end of the teasing!”

“Drake!” she hissed. “Geoffrey Charles has gone through a very difficult time these past several months—”

“—I know, I’m only joking,” he said. “I think we’ll get along fine.”

“Good,” she whispered and nudged him in the ribs with her elbow. She glanced up when the door at the other end of the hall closed and Ross approached. He’d untied his cravat and released the top button of his shirt revealing dark, curling black chest hairs at the base of his throat. She stared at that small spot for several beats before raising her eyes to meet his. The half smile on his face made her realize he’d noticed and she blushed. Would she _ever_ be able to look at him and be unaffected or, at the very least, not turn the colour of a strawberry? She considered it to be a tangible goal for her future and set about moving her way towards it.

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross settled down in the chair next to Demelza, placing pen, ink, and a pile of paper on the table in front of him. Once his bride had confirmed her arrival, he’d begun to assemble information about the supplies he and his new family would need for the six-month journey across the prairie. He’d given the Carnes a quick synopsis of what was to come, but was eager to share more of the details with them, now that everything was official.

It was official, all right. Ross Vennor Poldark was married. He’d said the words, signed the papers and, best of all, had kissed the bride. He knew he would have scared her to death if he’d kissed her the way he’d wanted to. He wished he could have had another moment to savour the softness of her lips, to hear the breathless sigh that tickled his ears, to pull her closer against him and feel her fingers flex against his chest. As it was, he’d found it to have been perfect in that moment in time. She’d had sprigs of white lilacs tucked in her hair and the fragrance had swirled around him as he’d spoken his vows to her. But has he’d pulled her close to kiss, he’d breathed in cinnamon, made him wonder if she’d tasted cinnamon candies before she’d left her room. Flowers and spice, so perfect for her and he found himself eager to experience it again.

He wondered if the same were true for her. He hadn’t missed the way she’d stared at the open collar of his shirt as he’d come down the hall, and the becoming hints of colour that stained her cheeks when she’d met his eyes. He sighed, wishing it was later in the day, closer to night when he could kiss her again. _Patience_ , he thought to himself.

“Ross? Ross?”

He felt her hand on his forearm and blinked. “I’m sorry, my dear, what did you say?”

“Is he still sleeping?” she said nonchalantly, a slightly feline, self-satisfied smile on her face.

He realized she’d caught him daydreaming. Damn. “Yes, he is. We will want to wake him in an hour or so, otherwise he’ll be difficult to get down for the night.”

“What time does he usually go to bed, Ross?” Demelza asked.

“We aim for eight o’clock,” Ross said, unscrewing the cap on the ink. “He’s usually asleep by nine. Why do you ask?”

She blushed. “Just curious.” She kept her focus on her folded hands. Ross bit the inside of his cheek and picked up the first of the papers and began.

They would be travelling with twelve other families under the expertise of Tobias Graves, the trail master. Graves had travelled the trail multiple times and had come highly recommended. The Poldark-Carne party would share two ten-foot by four-foot wagons with Dwight Enys. Four oxen, to be selected from the stockyard by the end of the week, would haul each wagon. The other livestock the party would purchase included two riding horses and two milking cows.

“Drake, I would like to put you in charge of caring for the livestock during our journey,” Ross said, scribbling down notes. “Now, we will all help you, of course. But your sister tells me you gained valuable experience with the oxen on your trip here from New York, and Dwight and I feel confident enough to give you this responsibility.” He looked up into the boy’s startled eyes. “Does this sound interesting?”

“Gosh,” Drake said, clearly pleased by the compliment and trust being extended by his new brother-in-law. “Thank you, Ross! I promise I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t, Drake,” Ross said with a nod. He handed Drake several sheets of paper. “That’s the list of what we’re looking for from the stockyard. I’ll come with you tomorrow to make the selection of the animals, but once the purchase is made you will be responsible for them.” He glanced over at Demelza, the look of shocked pleasure on her face lovely to see. “Demelza, do you have any concerns?”

“N-No, Ross, this is such a surprise!” she said, and touched his forearm. “Thank you.”

“Consider it part of your wedding gift, my dear,” he said teasingly. “Now, I’ve a list for you as well.” He pulled the rest of the papers over to share them with her. “These documents outline the cooking utensils, clothing items, bedding, food stuffs, luxuries and handy items recommended for travellers heading out on the trail.” He read through the lists, using his finger to follow along the pages while she followed along, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. When he reached the end of the lists he tided the pages and handed them to her. “I want you to be responsible for making arrangements for these, Demelza.”

The papers she held fluttered down onto the table and she went quite still. “Me, Ross?” she gasped, her voice a near whisper.

“Yes, of course, Demelza,” Ross said, happily. “You’re my wife now and it will be your responsibility to ensure we have the necessary items we will need on the trail and once we reach our homestead.” He paused, pointing to several pages he still had in front of him. “I’ll take care of the arrangements for any weaponry, tent supplies, tools and equipment we need, but you will have a firmer grasp of the things on your list.”

“Ross,” Drake said, his eyes trained on his sister’s face.

Demelza touched his hand and turned back to Ross, her brows furrowed. “This looks fairly complicated,” she said, fingering through the pages. “And this needs to be completed when?”

“I would like to get the lion’s share of it finished by Thursday,” he said. “The trading post and general store here are well stocked, however we may find we must look to Independence or Kansas City for some items. It’s best to know that sooner than later.” He picked up one of the sheets. “Yes, like this: ‘cooking utensils, including a Dutch oven, kettle, skillet, reflector oven, coffee grinder, teapot, butcher knife, ladle, tin tableware, water keg, and matches.’ Is that truly all we need? What about fabrics for curtains and sheets? And what do they mean by “luxuries”? They have dolls and toys down here as luxuries, but we’ve a four year old boy travelling with us whose toys aren’t luxuries by any stretch of the imagination.”

“And it’s not possible for us to leave the lists with the store owners to fill?”

He shook his head. “You should select the items you want, Demelza, not trust someone else to decide for you.” He touched her hand. “Now, I’ve made arrangements for the heavier items, such as a cooking stove and home furnishings – some of which were brought over from England – to be sent by ship around the Horn of South America. They have been shipped to Seattle and should arrive before we do.”

“Oh, Ross,” she said, shaking her head, “We don’t need anything as fancy as all that. And the expense!” Her eyes sparkled with tears. “Is all this _really_ necessary?”

Ross frowned at this. “I don’t believe we need to live in a less-than-civilized state simply because we are homesteading in virgin territory.” He folded his arms and leaned forward. “And as far as whether this is all necessary, if we do not carefully plan to bring all of the foodstuffs listed, we could very well starve along the way. So yes,” he barked, “this is all necessary.”

She stared at him, and red patches of colour bloomed on her cheeks. “There is no need to shout at me, Ross. I am sitting right here.” She stood and pressed her fingers to her temples. Ross automatically scrambled to his feet, completely flummoxed. “I’m sorry… I’ve a terrible headache. I think I shall lie down.” She quickly walked down the hall and came close to colliding with Dwight, who had just reached the top of the stairs. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dwight,” she said absently, brushing past him to the master bedroom. The door closed with a quiet click.

“What in the hell happened?” Dwight asked as he slowly approached the table.

Ross looked at Dwight and sank back into his seat. “I’ve no idea.” He turned to look at Drake. The young man appeared to be doing his best to disappear into the wallpaper. “Drake, you were here, son. What did I do?” he asked.

Drake flicked a mulish glance at him. “The lists,” he said, pointing at the sheets of paper on the table. “I know you know that she has trouble reading, right?”

Of course. He’d accused her of being illiterate only two days before. He picked up several of the pages, filled with cursive writing. They were legible, but not for someone who had difficulties with “joined-together letters”. Ross wished for the earth to swallow him whole. “And here I am, handing her a stack of handwritten lists.”

Dwight picked up one of the sheets, read it and closed his eyes. “You went over these with her today? It’s your wedding day, for God’s sake, Ross!”

Ross closed his eyes and lowered his face into his hands. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes,” Drake agreed. “Yes, you most certainly are.” Ross looked up at the boy, thunderstruck. “You told me you forgave my sister, and yet you forget everything she risked her pride for when she confessed to you?” His eyes flashed with anger and challenge. “Is this an example of how you are going to take care of her?”

Ross looked at Dwight, hoping for even a small measure of sympathy. “Oh no, I wholeheartedly agree with him, Ross,” Dwight said, shaking his head in disgust. “Tomorrow was soon enough to go over all of these details. But _today_?” he snorted. Today was meant for the two of you to go strolling by the river, or enjoying a picnic.” He clouted Ross on the shoulder. “It’s your _wedding_ day, you twat.”

Drake coughed, choking on a bark of laughter. Ross sighed heavily and looked at his new brother-in-law. “You’re right, you know,” he admitted, “and I respect the fact you had the balls to confront me like that, Drake. I’m sorry.”

He held out his hand. Drake stared at it, frowned up at him, and then took it in his own. “You make it right with her.”

Ross nodded. “I’ll apologize to her, now.” He gestured towards the sheets of paper. “Can the two of you sort this out and put them away for now?”

“I will,” Drake said. “I’ll tuck them away in the dresser.”

“Thank you, Drake, Dwight,” he said. “We’ll see you for supper.”

“Wedding day, Ross!” Dwight said, exasperated and slapped him on the head with his hat.

He yelped, rubbing his ear. “God dammit, all right! Just stop that, will you?”

Dwight nodded, satisfied. “We’ll even see to Geoffrey Charles. We don’t want to see either of you again until tomorrow morning, understood?”

Ross nodded. “Thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “We will see you in the morning.”

He turned on his heel and stalked down the hallway towards the bedroom. What a disastrous wedding day this had been. _God, what in the hell was he going to say to her?_ he thought. He could only beg her forgiveness and hope that she’d understand.

He knocked on the door, then turned the handle to step into the room. Demelza had curled up on the right hand side of the bed with her back to the door, still in her pretty blue gingham dress. Her shoes sat on the floor by the foot of the bed, one shiny, black-buttoned boot tipped over on its side. He looked up to see her stockinged feet peeking out from under the hem of her skirts. Long and narrow, highly arched, and lovely. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Demelza?”

She shifted, turned on the bed to face him and sat up. “Ross,” she rasped, her voice hoarse.

He could tell she’d been crying and he mentally slapped himself. “Demelza, I am very sorry for what happened out there,” he said, walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I was inconsiderate of your feelings and fears, especially as it pertains to the challenges you have with reading my handwriting.” He looked down, ashamed. “I’ve no excuse, other than I am very excited to begin our journey, especially after all of these months, since we first corresponded.”

“I am very excited to begin this part of my life as well, Ross,” she said. Her voice was low and throaty, and it made him raise his head to meet her gaze. Her hair curled wildly around her head, and he found he much preferred it this way. She swung her legs off the bed to dangle next to his. “I suppose I’d hoped…”

He reached over to take her hand in his. “What did you hope?”

“That we could spend some time together after the ceremony talking, perhaps going out for a walk,” she murmured, lowering her eyes and lifting one shoulder in a shrug he found endearing.

Damn Dwight as the know-it-all he was. “I understand, my dear, and if I had half a brain I would have figured that out myself.” He tipped her chin up to look into her eyes, crystal blue and uncertain. “May I have a chance to make this right? I should like to take you for a walk by the river, if you feel up to it.”

She smiled tremulously at him. “I would like that very much, Ross.” He rose from the bed and offered her his hand. He noticed that, without her shoes, the top of her head would fit neatly under his chin, and he hoped to test out that theory sometime in the not too distant future. She looked up at him. “Ross?”

“Yes, my dear?” he said gently. He smiled broadly as the blush on her cheeks deepened.

“I gave you a teasing response earlier, when you asked me if I thought our kiss was nice.” Her voice was so quiet he wasn’t certain he’d heard what she’d said. “It was lovely,” she said, looking up into his eyes. “Very lovely.” She paused. “Very different than…before.”

“I’m very glad of that, Demelza, he murmured, hoping he masked his rage with his the softness in his voice. Ross brushed the furrow that had formed between her brows with his index finger. "I hope that, in time, you will no longer remember what that man did to you.”

“I hope so, too,” she said, her eyes a little sad. Colin Polgarry would have breathed his last if he’d been in their room at that moment. “Ross?” He nodded, not trusting himself enough to keep from swearing at the spectre of the man that stood between he and the woman in front of him. “I know we made an agreement,” she murmured.

He drew in a cleansing breath, scented of lilacs and cinnamon, and smiled. “Are you asking me to kiss you again?” She blushed and picked up her shoes. “Let us go for our walk and we’ll see what happens.” She nodded and sat down at the vanity to button her shoes. “And Demelza?”

Her eyes sparkled up at him. “Yes, Ross?”

“The next time we come into this room, I will carry you over that threshold,” he purred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yes. He's an idiot.
> 
> Thanks again to all of you who have supported this piece so far! It really makes the writing of it so enjoyable to know you all are anticipating new chapters. Massive thanks to rainpuddle for betaing the chapter and encouraging me to dig deep in the character development. 
> 
> There was a lot of research that went into this one, and I've included links to some of the sites I visited to gather the information. More to come as we continue. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Supply list for the trail](http://www.oregontrailcenter.org/HistoricalTrails/Supplies.htm)
> 
>  [Food lists](http://preparednessadvice.com/food_storage/foods-carried-on-the-oregon-trail/#.VyGRDWQrLs0)
> 
>  
> 
> Hope to get the next chapter finished soon!


	6. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Ross looked to his left as they stepped out onto the front porch of the boarding house. Demelza raised her hand to shield the rays of the mid-afternoon sun from her eyes. “Do you want to go back inside for your hat?” he asked.

“I’ve not got one,” she said, squinting up at him.

He pictured her with the tip of her pretty nose kissed by too much sun – and not enough by him – and smirked. “Oh, that is something we must remedy immediately,” he said, playfully. He adjusted his own hat over his eyes, tucked her free hand into the crook of his arm and turned in the direction of the general store. They walked slowly in companionable silence for a time before he felt her fingers squeeze his arm. “Yes, Demelza?”

“What is your favourite colour, Ross?” she asked.

He glanced at her, a little surprised. “Favourite colour?” he repeated. He thought for a moment. “Blue, I suppose. And not only because you’re wearing blue right now.” She blushed prettily at the compliment. “I think I favour the colours of the sea the most: blue, green, stormy grey. If I had to choose one, it would be blue.” He looked down at her as they ambled along. “How about you?”

“Blue!” she said with a laugh. “Although it’s hard to say at times.” She furrowed her brow in the way he was becoming familiar with whenever she fell deeply into thought. “I’ve such a fondness for the colours of nature, especially those found in flowers.”

He stopped in front of the general store. “Remind me to include flower seeds on our list for the homestead,” he said gently, raising his hand to brush her cheek with his thumb. She smiled and, to his surprise, leaned into his caress. His gaze shifted to her mouth and he stepped forward, only to catch himself before taking her lips with his. He smiled ruefully. “No, I am saving that for this evening.”

She scowled up at him. “Oh, Ross.”

“Two kisses, that was my agreement with you,” he laughed, opening the door for her. “You’ll find I am a man of my word.” They wandered into the store and went straight to the selection of ladies’ hats they had. She tried several of them before picking a broad-brimmed straw hat from the counter. Ross knew that one was the one the moment she placed it on her head. “That is very fetching, Demelza.”

“You think so?” she asked. Her eyes sparkled with happiness.

The back of the hat swept down far enough in the back to protect the pale skin of her neck. He brushed his thumb along her nape and felt his pulse quicken by the small shiver that ran through her at his touch. “Does that bother you?” he asked, concerned.

She shook her head. “N-No,” she stammered, “it doesn’t, really. But, perhaps…”

“Not here,” he murmured as her cheeks bloomed with colour. He nodded. “I shall behave myself, my dear.” He nodded towards the seed display on the other side of the store. “Why don’t you go over there and see if there are any particular flower seeds you’d like to take with us? We can set them aside for us to add to our order.” He plucked the hat from her head. “I’ll go take care of this.”

“I’ve coin for this, Ross,” she protested, pinching the brim between her fingers and giving it a tug.

“I insist, Demelza,” he said firmly. “Another part of your wedding gift.”

She frowned up at him, but acquiesced. “Thank you, Ross.”

“You’re welcome, my dear.” She smiled and walked over to the seeds. Ross headed to the counter. “Good afternoon, Mr Chambers,” he said to the tall, portly man who ran the shop. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Poldark,” Chambers said. Ross was always surprised when he heard the high tenor voice come from such a broad chest. “So I heard you got hitched today – congratulations!” He nodded his head towards the area where Demelza stood, transfixed by the packages of seeds. “She’s a pretty thing, if you don’t mind me saying so, sir.”

“Not at all.” Ross’s own chest puffed up at the compliment. “She is, very much so,” he agreed. “Mr Chambers, I would like to purchase several lengths of ribbon, the same length and width as this.” He fingered the white ribbon that was woven along the band of the hat. The ribbon’s trailing ends slipped through the back to allow the wearer to tie it at the back of the head. 

Chambers glanced at Demelza again and smiled. “A surprise?” Ross nodded. “Any colour in particular?”

“Different shades of blue and green,” he said, thinking of her eyes. “Some floral patterned, if you’ve any,” he continued quietly, then paused. “And red, a cranberry red. Can I ask you to have them delivered to the boarding house by suppertime?”

“Can do, sir,” Chambers agreed. “I’ll have Martha select them. She’s got much better taste than I do.”

He grinned. “Thank you, Mr Chambers. I’ll leave this here for the moment,” Ross said, his eye catching on the glass jars containing confections. He smiled. “Can you add two peppermint and two cinnamon sticks to this for me? I’ll go collect my wife to see if she’s made any selections.” _My wife_ , he thought to himself as he re-joined Demelza, very much liking the sound of it. “Have you found anything interesting, my dear?”

She turned and nodded, features alight with pleasure. “Too much, I fear,” she said, holding up several seed packets. “These for certain. I should like to wait on the rest until we reach Bush Prairie and speak with the locals about what will grow well there.”

Ross pursed his lips. “Well, I’m told the weather there is very similar to what we have…had in Cornwall.” An image of riding along the cliffs near Wheal Leisure flitted through his mind and made him nearly wince with homesickness. Her hand touched his chest and he blinked, clearing the image to look at her, concern clear in her eyes. He covered her hand with his. “Just a moment of melancholy, Demelza,” he admitted. “I’ve been here in Missouri too long and find myself missing the sea.”

“Me too,” she said softly, “despite having only left New York a few weeks ago, there is something different about the Cornish sea than what I saw there.” She turned her head towards the counter, then back before she stood on tiptoe and brushed his lips with hers. Ross gasped with surprise at her inexpert kiss. He leaned forward, encouraged her inquisitive mouth with his own, daring to touch her bottom lip with his tongue. She shivered against him and his hands grasped and tightened on her upper arms. She pulled away suddenly, her eyes dark with what looked like panic. “Oh, God,” she wheezed, trembling before him.

He released the grip of his hands and peered down into her face. “Demelza, take a deep breath, dearest,” Ross whispered, rubbing his open palm against her back. She looked up at him unseeing, taking breath after deep, shuddering breath. “What is it? What happened?” She stepped against him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He wasn’t certain what to do with his hands, but when he felt the strength of the hold she had on him, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “Should we go back to the boarding house?” he asked against her hair. The feel of her softness pressed tight against him made it hard to breathe.

“N-No, Ross,” she whispered against his chest, “let’s go to the river, like we planned. I need fresh air.”

He nodded, reached into his pocket and handed her his handkerchief. “Dry your eyes, my dear, and we’ll go.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Will you be alright if I go into the store and pick up our purchases, my dear?” Ross whispered, holding Demelza’s hands between his. She sat on the bench in front of the general store, grateful for the fresh breeze blowing off the river.

She nodded. “Yes, Ross, I’ll be fine,” she insisted. “I’m so embarrassed.”

His eyes were a stormy green-grey and concerned. “Do not trouble yourself about that, Demelza,” he said. “Drink the cider and I’ll be back in just a moment.” He paused then raised her left hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on the knuckle next to her ring. He stood and walked back into the store.

_What in blazes happened in there?_ Demelza thought to herself. She’d worked up her nerve to kiss Ross. _She_ was not the one who had only promised to kiss _him_ twice a day, after all. She’d figured _that_ out when she was buttoning her shoes before they’d left for their walk. She remembered the surprised gasp she’d felt against her mouth, had felt dizzy with the thrill of it, and then – suddenly – she was back in that stable with Colin’s fetid mouth on her, his hands squeezing her arms. Before she’d even realized it, Ross had hustled her up to the bench in front of the store.

She sipped the cider and found the tang of the apples tickled her tongue and softened the lingering edges of the memory. As the panic subsided, Demelza was able to think about what occurred and she realized what had triggered her response: Ross’s tightened grip on her upper arms. She rubbed absently at the spots where she could still feel the ghost of pressure, and she sighed desolately. It seemed like a cruel twist, for her to have married a handsome, charming man and not be able to endure his touch.

The door opened and Ross stood next to her, the pretty straw bonnet held in his hands. “Ross,” she said, shifting over on the bench to make room for him. He sat down and handed her the hat. “It feels like hours have passed since I first put this on.” He slid his arm along the back of the bench, careful not to touch her. She gritted her teeth and leaned against him, happy to discover she felt safe, not threatened, by his nearness.

“Can you put it on for me now?” he asked softly. She smiled at him and placed the hat on her head and tied the white ribbon in back of her head along the edge of her hairline. She tipped her head up and basked in the pleasure of his smile. “You look lovely, my dear,” he murmured. He shifted his arm from around her shoulders and rose to his feet. “Shall we try it out on a walk along the river?” he asked extending his hand to her. She nodded, placed her hand in his and set off for the riverside.

“Ross, do you plan to take up mining again once we arrive in Washington?” she asked ten minutes later. They sat on a bench in a gazebo at the park. She broke off a piece of the cinnamon stick he’d given her and offered it to him.

“No,” he said, decisively. He popped the candy into his mouth and held it between his teeth and his cheek. “No, I left that behind me after the accident and I sold my properties back home.” He swivelled on the bench, folding one of his long legs in front of him and leaned forward. “Farming. I’ve a mind to focus on farming the land and raising livestock.”

“Farming?” She blinked in surprise. “Have you done much farming, Ross?”

“A surprising amount,” he said, sucking on the sweet. “Nampara was a farm first and foremost when I was growing up. I’ve done my share of fieldwork and animal breeding. I’m not certain how profitable we will find it, Demelza, but if we can do well enough to keep ourselves fed and sheltered, with a bit besides to set us up for the following year I think we can be content.” He grinned. “I probably should have told you this before you agreed to join me here. Will you be content to be the wife of a poor farmer?”

Demelza looked at him through her lashes. Her imagination had run wild as Ross spoke of his plans to start a farm. _Oh, what bliss,_ she thought to herself. He had no idea his words had filled her with more hope for the future than she could have dreamt of.

She smiled broadly. “Aye, Ross. More than content.” She sat up a little straighter. “Could we, perhaps, see if we can find land with some fruit trees?”

“Fruit trees, my dear?” he asked, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a piece of paper and a small pencil. “I suppose we can hope to find something of the sort. Why do you ask?" 

“Preserves,” she said brightly. “I enjoy making jams, jellies. And then there’s cider, beer, all kinds of things we can make that can bring in additional coin, Ross. If we find good, fertile land we could grow any number of trees that could provide us fruit for years and years.” She delighted in watching how animated his face was, and to know she was the cause of it made the pleasure sweeter.

“I’ll speak with Dwight about this first thing in the morning,” Ross said, the excitement making his brilliant eyes sparkle. “It will be hard work, I’ve no doubt about it.”

“Yes, it will, but good, honest work, Ross. And something that can be shared with the whole family.” She blushed. “I mean, I’m sure Drake will be a great help with the farm.”

He tucked the paper and pencil into his pocket and gave her hands a squeeze. “Drake is part of _our_ family now, Demelza.” She couldn’t help but notice the emphasis he’d placed on the word “our” and it sent a thrill through her. He released her hands and slapped the palms of his on his knees, making her laugh. “Shall we walk for a bit and discuss other ideas you may have?”

They talked of Ross’s ideas for the livestock, and how he looked forward to discussing this with Drake when they met up with he and Geoffrey Charles in the morning. They also discussed his construction plans for the outbuildings and their cabin. Ross said that he’d done some work on Nampara, but knew he would need some assistance in designing and building a sturdy home. Dwight had mentioned it was possible to find men with such experience at the wood mill near the Hudson River Company’s trading post. He was excited to have a mill so close to where he figured they would settle, for it would give them more options for building.

“Oh, but a log cabin sounds so…exotic and rustic,” Demelza cried. 

“Well, I’ve not ruled it out, but it will be nice to have choices to consider.” He crunched on the peppermint stick. She giggled, charmed by the boyish enthusiasm that shone in his features. “I figure if we arrive in Bush Prairie by September, and we all pitch in, we can probably manage to close in a two-room cabin, with a loft for the boys. We would have one large main room for the living and a bedroom for us.” He un-tucked her hand from the crook of his arm.” Do you think you could be convinced to swing a hammer, Demelza?” he teased. His eyes danced with mischief and flirtation as he stroked her palm with his long index finger. It made her curl her toes in her shoes.

“Of course I can, although I’ve never swung a hammer before!” she grinned back, somewhat surprised by how throaty her voice sounded. She cleared her throat and cocked her head. “Would building a smaller cabin help us ensure it will be ready for winter?” she asked. Some of the spark that had lit his eyes dimmed. “Ross?”

He looked out on the river for several moments, his face was unreadable as the brim of his cowboy hat shielded his eyes. “I thought for us to have space for everyone to be comfortable,” he said, turning to face her. “Privacy after so many months living so closely on the trail.”

His voice had grown softer, more intimate. Demelza suddenly understood what he was meant with his words. “Oh,” she said, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he said in a rush, “and after what happened earlier…” His words trailed off, his own cheeks darkening before her eyes. “We’ve spoken, only a little, about our expectations for our marriage, but we’ve both mentioned thoughts around children, even in the abstract.” He glanced towards the west and the sinking of the sun. “Perhaps we need to make certain we both understand our path forward, tonight and for all the nights to come.”

Demelza swallowed, feeling a little light headed. “Can we return to the gazebo, Ross? I would much prefer continuing this discussion sitting down.”

“Of course,” he said. Once they were seated, he removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Demelza sat transfixed as the brown-black strands billowed out, the imprint of the hat’s band gone in an instant. She reached to untie the bow of her own hat’s ribbon, slipped it from her head and gave her own head a shake, hoping to do the same. She found him staring at her when she opened her eyes. “You have the most extraordinary hair, Demelza,” he said softly. “May I?”

He gestured with his right hand. She nodded shyly and held very still as his fingers brushed through the fiery strands at her temple. She felt several strands tug at her scalp for an instant, then noticed the white lilac sprig that he’d pulled free. He held it to his nose and breathed deeply, his long black lashes falling down over his eyes, whiskey-brown in the setting sun’s light. “I think lilacs are my favourite flower,” he murmured. “They remind me of my mother, who planted lilac bushes in the garden at Nampara.” He opened his eyes to smile into hers, shifting his gaze to her left hand. The ring glinted in the sunlight. “You know,” Ross said, “I’d hoped the ring would fit you.”

“You gave me quite a shock when you told me it was your mother’s,” Demelza said. She held her hand out and wiggled her fingers. He laughed and captured it in his and linked their fingers. “Can you tell me a little about her?”

“Her name was Grace Vennor,” he said. “I’ve no portraits or miniatures of her to share with you, but I’m told I favoured her.”

“She must have been beautiful,” Demelza said, absently, staring at his face only to blush an instant later when she realized what she’d said. “Oh, Judas! Did I say that out loud?”

Ross was laughing, but drew her hand up to his lips to kiss. “Demelza, I shall take that as the greatest of compliments.” They spoke of their families, and she had a chance to expound on the small details she’d shared with him about her parents, her mother’s passing and how life changed for all of the Carne children at that moment: her father’s drinking, the beatings, and – ultimately – Colin Polgarry’s arrival in their lives.

She looked at him. His eyes were hooded and troubled, and she touched his hand. “I think I know what happened in the store, Ross,” she said quietly.

A half-smile formed on his face and he met her gaze. “Besides the fact you’ve caught onto the gap in our agreement,” he murmured, turning her hand over to clasp it in his. “I think I know, too. It was when I tightened my hands on your arms, right?”

She nodded. “That….that night, he grabbed me so hard I had bruises for more than a week. You just happened to touch me precisely where he did, in the same manner.” She gripped his hand.

“Demelza,” Ross said, worry clear on his face, “I did it because you surprised me with your kiss, not because I wanted to take advantage of you, or harm you.”

She nodded. “I know that, Ross. I know that _now_. I just reacted without thinking.”

“As did I, my dear,” he said softly.

“And I know there are certain expectations for a man and a woman on their wedding night.” She smiled at him. “You’ve been gracious enough to say you will not pressure me to do anything I’m not ready to do.”

“I meant every word,” he said earnestly. He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand. “I will admit it will be a challenge for me, now that I’ve had a chance to have you in my arms and kiss your lips.”

Demelza swallowed, her skin tingling from his caress. “So what do we do?”

He recaptured her hand and brushed the top with his thumb. “I’m going to ask you to do something I wish I didn’t have to.”

“You want me to tell you what he did to me, don’t you?” She’d hoped to sound strong and sure, but her voice wavered at the thought of reliving it.

“I only ask you to consider this so that I can do my best to avoid doing anything that will take you back there, as it did in the store,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She squeezed his hand. “It’s like I told you the other day: I don’t want what happened to me to hold me captive from being your wife.” She flicked a glance at him through her lashes. “I think it’s clear to you that I like you. I didn’t think I would like you so soon.”

He had been thinking the very same words. “I like you too,” he said, grinning. “Very much. And I want this to be a true marriage.”

She blushed, took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They returned to the boarding house in time for supper. Demelza told Ross she was going to freshen up and would join him in ten minutes. Ross kissed her on her cheek and watched as she made her way up the stairs. He blew out a breath of pent-up rage and rubbed his face with his palms. He thought he’d been furious when she’d first told him about Polgarry’s assault. It was nothing compared to how he felt, knowing all of the brutal details.

Torn dress. Bruising on her arms and breasts from his grappling hands. Teeth marks on her neck and scratches down her back from his nails. He’d forced his tongue into her mouth, making her vomit afterwards from the foul stench of his rotting teeth and the abuse she’d endured. It could have been so much worse, and he thanked God and his new brother-in-law Sam again for reaching her in time

She’d been so brave in the telling, welcoming his arms, held loose around her waist, when it became too much and she needed security and silence. But when she’d murmured her fear that Ross would be repelled by her tale he’d made an inarticulate sound in his throat, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.

_She gasped against his mouth before she slid her arms around his waist and pressed against him. Cinnamon, lilacs, the salt of her tears, her sighs, her breath, he consumed it all while reining in his need to take her mouth with all of the passion he felt. He kept the touch of his lips tender, nibbling and nuzzling, soothing and simmering. He sampled her until he knew he’d reached his limit, and eased his mouth from hers. He was looking at her eyes when they slowly opened, jade-green and bottomless. She gave him a shy smile and sighed his name, her breath cooling his overheated lips, still wet from their joining._

_He huffed out a strangled laugh and rubbed his thumb against her jaw. “That was well worth the wait,” Ross whispered, kissing her cheek. “Are you all right, my dear?”_

_“Oh yes,” she said softly. “It was calming and gentle and stormy and… lovely.” She stood on tiptoe and brushed her lips against his chin._

_He purred in his throat and stepped back from their embrace, and grew serious. “I could no sooner be repelled by you – regardless of what that bastard did – than I could willingly settle here in Missouri, never to see the ocean again.” He ran the back of his fingers along her throat and up to her cheek. “You are exquisite, Demelza, and one day we shall put that incident into the past. It is my privilege to be your husband and to begin our life together.”_

_“I am very lucky,” she whispered. Tears slipped through her lashes. “Thank you, Ross.”_

She’d pressed close to him, as they walked arm in arm back to the boarding house. The softness of her breast caressed his tricep, the sensation sending shards of lust to his groin. It made him wonder now, as he stood in front of the sitting room fire, if he’d promised too much, to hold himself from her until she was ready, but there was simply no alternative. Not if he wanted to live with himself, there wasn’t.

He heard her soft tread on the rug behind him, felt her hand touch him between his shoulder blades and shivered involuntarily. He turned to find her looking at her hand, a look of puzzlement creasing her brow. “What is it, my dear?”

“I felt you shiver when I touched you,” she observed. “I’ve done that quite a bit when you’ve touched me. It’s the same for you?”

He took her hand and kissed it. “Yes it is, Demelza.” He looked over her head and noticed the landlady waiting for them near the entrance of the dining room. He assumed she was waiting for them because she was attempting to avert her eyes from their tête-à-tête, and failing miserably. “Yes, Mrs Sherman?”

She stepped forward, clearing her throat. “Mr and Mrs Poldark,” she said with a beaming smile, “I have set up a small table near the window for the two of you this evening.”

Demelza reached out and clasped the woman’s hand. “That is so very kind of you – thank you!”

Ross nodded in agreement. “That was most thoughtful, ma’am. Please lead the way.”

The table was covered with a tablecloth and was dressed with some of Mrs Sherman’s best china. A candle flickered next to a small spray of lilacs. Demelza reached for the back of her chair. “Oh no, my dear,” Ross said as he pulled it out for her.

Her eyes flashed up at him. “No one’s ever done that for me before,” she said with a laugh, sitting down and arranging her skirts. “Opening doors, pulling out chairs. You are very gallant, sir.”

“Get used to it,” he said with a grin as walked to the other side of the table to take his seat. “It’s what I was taught,” he continued, snapping his napkin and sliding it across his lap. “My mother would have my hide if I didn’t.”

She giggled as Mrs Sherman brought them their meal, a delicious chicken dish that he hadn’t had before. Demelza informed him it was called chicken fricassee and it was something she’d prepared on her trip out from New York several times. They talked about favourite foods, beverages and desserts as Mrs Sherman brought theirs out. Ross was amazed at the way Demelza could figure out what was in the dish, simply by tasting it. He was a bit distracted by the way she would roll a bite of dessert around her tongue, made him wish she’d tasted him like that when they’d kissed. _The time would come for that_ , he thought, hopefully.

When they finished eating, Ross looked at his new wife, her eyes twinkling in the candlelight. “I have a surprise for you.” He pulled a paper-wrapped parcel from his pocket. “The final part of your wedding present.”

“Oh, Ross, you shouldn’t have,” she said, cheeks flushed with pleasure, “you have given me so much already.” She unwrapped the gift and drew in a breath as several lengths of ribbons tumbled out. 

“I had them cut to fit around the band of your hat,” he pointed out, “so you can trade them out when you like. They are also long enough to be of service to you when you dress your hair.” He watched the way her fingers ran over the ribbons, hoping to feel the softness of the same caress one day. She was so quiet he felt as if he was babbling and insecurity began chewing its way through his bravado. “This is just a little something, my dear,” he offered.

She lifted her eyes, sparking with unshed tears, her face beaming with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “Thank you, Ross, they are marvellous.” She reached out and squeezed his hand.

He looked around the dining room and realized they were the only two still there. He was met by the inky darkness of the night sky when he glanced out the window. He gave her hand a squeeze and removed his pocket watch. “My dear, it is nearly ten o’clock. I believe it is time for us to retire for the evening,” he said simply, extending his hand to her.

Her eyes widened and she swallowed. “Oh,” she said, looking outside. She took his hand. “I suppose it is.” They rose from the table and, after thanking Mrs Sherman for a delicious meal, climbed the stairs to their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh God. I did it again, didn't I? Trust me, you won't have too long to wait until we FINALLY get to it. But, given what was covered in this one, I think we can all agree that things might not be seriously scorching for our lovely newlyweds. But you never know...
> 
> Thank you again for your continued support of this fic! It's teaching me so much about plot development, research, everything for a story that is pretty much my own, at this point. Rainpuddle's guidance and encouragement continues to keep me pressing forward even if I'm stuck on something. 
> 
> More to come soon


	7. Thresholds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

They reached the top of the stairs in near silence. Demelza thought Ross must have been able to hear her heartbeat, for it fairly roared in her own ears. She trembled with each step up the staircase despite her best efforts to breathe through her fears until the tension had built to such a degree that he stopped a few feet from the door. “Demelza, there’s no need to be scared,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, eyes wide with apprehension. “Is it _that_ noticeable?” she asked.

He grinned. “I can feel your hand shaking on my arm,” he said, taking her in his arms. “This is only the first night of many for us, and it’s natural for us to be nervous.” The warmth of his body enveloped her as he drew her close to kiss her cheek. “ _Nervous_ , but not scared.” The rasp of his facial hair made her toes curl. The scent of the bay rum he’d used earlier had faded, mellowed to combine with what she’d come to know as his scent: smoky, musky and deliciously male. Oh, why could she not just stop _thinking_ and _be_ with him?

“I know, Ross,” she said with more heat in her tone than intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not upset with you. I’m frustrated with myself.” She touched his cheek. “We’ve had a lovely afternoon and evening, and we’ve talked about so much about how we would go forward with our life together.” She sighed. “I suppose now that we’re here it all became very immediate.”

He nodded and searched her eyes. “Do you trust me to keep my promise to you?”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, of course I do—Oh!” she exclaimed, as strong arms lifted her free from gravity’s pull. Fear and apprehension fled as shock and delight spread through her and made her giddy.

Ross laughed as he swept her into his arms and settled her close. “I told you I would carry you over the threshold, didn’t I?” he murmured, his voice deep and resonant in her ear and made her a little breathless. Surprise and happiness at the ease by which he held her tickled her into a fit of giggles. She dropped the ribbons she had been holding into her lap and linked her hands around the back of his neck as he made the last few steps to their door. Her fingers itched to run through his hair. “Can you open it for me?” His low voice brought her back from her daydreams. “My hands are a little full.”

She laughed and stretched to reach the brass knob. The fabric of her bodice tightened across her breasts and she heard a small, strangled sound come from Ross’s throat. She noticed the direction of his eyes and blushed. The door swung open and she clasped her hands around his nape again, smiling up into his eyes. “Thank you, Ross, for lightening my spirits.”

He pressed a lingering kiss on her cheek. “You’re welcome, Mrs Poldark.” He stepped across the threshold and kicked the door shut with his booted heel.

She gathered up her ribbons from her lap before he set her down in the centre of the room. Mrs Sherman had been busy, she noticed as she looked around the room. The scent of lilacs filled the air, coming from a vase on the bedside table and a fire crackled cheerfully in the hearth. An oil lamp shone bright next to the flowers, a quilted coverlet was draped over the stand and the bedclothes had been turned back, welcoming.

“Ross,” she breathed, turning back to gaze up at him. His eyes glowed whiskey-brown in the firelight. “So lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes, very lovely indeed,” he said, looking directly at her. He brushed his thumb along her warming cheek. “I should like to kiss you, but I’ve already reached my limit for the day.”

Demelza’s smile lifted her cheek against his palm. His charming hint made her playful. “Well, in truth, Ross, I believe I was in dire need of comfort and reassurance at that moment,” she said demurely.

He laughed. “Are you saying that it was a mercy kiss?” She nodded, dropping the ribbons and hiding her face in her hands. “So I’m to be granted a waiver of some kind?” She peeked at him over the tips of her fingers, mirth shaking her shoulders. His eyes where warm and stormy all at the same time, and they made her eager, light-headed and aroused all at the same time. He drew her hands from her face, his expression mischievous and enchanted, and placed them on his chest. “Then I’m happy to turn it in for redemption, ma’am.” He slid his arms around her waist and, pulling her close, lowered his head to hers.

She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against his and sighed against his mouth. Her hands slipped up his chest and over his shoulders until they met behind his neck, her fingers finally tangling in the long strands of near-black hair at his nape. He shuddered against her when her nails grazed his scalp. Emboldened, she tentatively stroked her tongue along his bottom lip, and was rewarded with another tremor of his long, lean form. He returned the caress, and she nestled closer against him, her lips vibrating from the purring groan that rose up from his chest. Her breasts felt full and hot, her nipples tightening against her stays and sending tingles of need throughout her body. Her pulse beat low between her legs, the arousal it signified leaving her dizzy, and a little scared. His hands slipped down to her lower back and pulled her towards him, tight enough for her to feel his hardened length pressed against her lower abdomen.

“Ross,” she gasped against his lips. The edge of unease tightened her throat even as her own hips pressed against him in response and broke their kiss. His eyes slowly opened, searching hers through their haze of desire and, recognizing something in hers, rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and drew back.

He leaned down to pick up the ribbons, handed them back to her and stroked her cheek. “That was lovely, my dear,” he murmured hoarsely. “Thank you for allowing a third kiss.” He arched his brow and grinned. “Perhaps I should look for more opportunities to be a comfort to you?”

His teasing once again broke the tension that had formed in Demelza’s stomach and she smiled up at him. “It is my hope that I won’t require as much in the way of consolation as the days go by, husband,” she said gently and laughed at the blink of surprise he gave her at the use of his new title.

He kissed her cheek and nodded his head to the door to the other room. “I shall go in and change.” Demelza looked at the door, confusion forming in her mind. “I’ve yet to bring my belongings in here. I will do that in the morning.”

“Aha,” she said. “But where are the boys?” She smiled; she liked the way that felt against her tongue. _Their_ boys.

“They are with Dwight, getting into God only knows what,” he said with a slightly worried chuckle. “He left a note to say he’d take them both for the night and see us at breakfast in the morning.” She nodded, understanding for the first time that they were truly alone. He took her hands and gave them a squeeze. “I’ll knock on the door before I come in, all right?”

“Y-Yes, all right, Ross,” she said, wishing her voice sounded more assured. He smiled, walked to the door and, with one final look over his shoulder, stepped into the other room.

Demelza looked at the nursery’s threshold for a full minute before shaking herself from her thoughts and walking to the vanity table. She sat down, setting the ribbons down in front of her, admiring all of the colours and patterns. There were several floral ribbons that she fell instantly in love with, along with ribbons in bright shades of blue and green, pastels of lilac and pink and one of a deep cranberry red that reminded her of Christmas. She realized she would be celebrating the holiday in a new country in a new home with her own new little family and was at once filled with excitement and nervousness. So much had happened to her in the last seventy-two hours it was hard to comprehend how much. One thing was certain: regardless of her worries for the future, she did not regret her decision to come all this way and bind herself to Ross Poldark a single bit.

She’d discovered he was a good man, better than good. A man of integrity, pride, caring and loyalty, qualities any woman would hope for and be thrilled to have in their spouse. He was gentle, passionate, and kind, if not occasionally quick-tempered and narrow-focused, especially when he was enthusiastic about something. She was pleased she could now smile about the two instances where he’d demonstrated the latter two characteristics. And it wasn’t as if she could throw stones at his glass house, for she knew she had a bit of a temper herself. Now that she’d had a chance to know him a bit better she’d have a better idea of what to look for in order to head off a repeat performance. And, if it should happen again, she now knew he was quick to apologize and make amends.

_And how he’d made amends_ , she thought to herself as she gathered her nightrail from the hook on the door and thought about the conversations they’d had that afternoon and evening. He’d been so charming, generous and caring, especially after what happened in the store. The kiss by the river, so full of yearning and consolation. She was a young woman, after all, with all of the natural curiosity that came from being newly married to such a handsome, alluring and desirable man. She thought of the sensations that had rushed through her during their last kiss: arousal, need, fear, trepidation, nervousness. Desire still licked at the edges of her consciousness as she stood naked in the room, her nightrail in her hands. She looked at her body in the mirror, the blush of colour that spread from the slope of her breasts all the way up her neck to her cheeks, the prominence of her nipples, still erect from the memory of their embrace and the dull, dizzying pulse at the centre of her womanhood.

She wanted to feel his hands on her so much yet, when the opportunity presented itself, she would shy away from it like flames. And, in that moment, she wished she could have Colin Polgarry in front of her right now so she could bash him over the head with something very, very hard. If not for him, she would have been eagerly welcoming Ross to her bed, propriety be damned.

She slipped the garment over her head and sat down at the table to brush and plait her hair, something sensible and routine to take her mind off of the internal struggle going on within her. But time and time again, she’d remember how he’d felt in her arms, the muscles of his arms flexing under her fingers, the strength of his chest against hers and the hardness of his length pressed against her, and the almost-mindless response she’d had to it. She’d lived with brothers and had overheard their ribald comments long enough to understand the nature of male arousal and knew it was not only uncomfortable, but oftentimes painful for a man to stay in as high a state of arousal as Ross had been when they parted.

He’d told her he would be patient with her, and he wouldn’t force her. But how long could he endure it? Could he sleep through the night like that? And if they were in the same bed, how would they keep from touching each other in the night? Would he not be more miserable than he would if they maintained separate beds until she was ready? He’d said it would be important for their courtship to share a bed, but she wasn’t sure she understood how it would all work.

Her fingers quickly flashed through her hair, remembering how his thick and silky his hair had felt only moment before, as she braided hers into a long plait that she tied on the end with a scrap of material. Her fingers itched to know it more fully, how the texture differed between that and the hair on his chest. He fascinated her and she itched to touch his chest hair, his skin. She wanted to caress him, to know all there was to know about him, but was it fair of her to wish this if she knew she couldn’t give him the same freedom to know her as well?

He knocked lightly just as she’d set her brush down on the vanity. She turned just in time to see him step into the room and close the door. He wore a midnight blue robe that covered him to his knees, leaving his lower legs and feet bare. Silky black hair similar to what sprinkled his forearms covered his legs and made her wonder how far up it went. He wiggled his toes which made her lift her head with a jerk, blushing hotly at the wicked smile that crossed his lips. “Oh, Ross,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

“I couldn’t resist,” he said softly walking over to where she stood. “You were looking at them with such concentration. Yours are lovely, by the way.” He nodded at her bare toes. “I noticed your feet when you were laying down earlier,” he said. “Long and elegant.” She curled her toes into the rug beneath her feet. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I shall pay you compliments often, my dear, so you should start to become used to them.”

He untied his robe to reveal his body, clothed in white cotton undergarments that fit him impeccably well. The line and shape of his musculature was well defined in the short-sleeved undershirt and britches that ended just above his knee. More of the chest hair that drove her to distraction was on display as the button placket remained half undone. And she couldn’t help but notice the fullness at the apex of his thighs.

Perfection. Judas, she didn’t think the word was enough to describe him. And it made her even more apprehensive about the logistics for the night to come. “Ross, I must know,” she blurted out. “How are we to sleep together and not…not…”

“Be mindful of the promises I’ve made to you?” he said gently. He picked up the quilt from the stand. “You shall sleep under the bedclothes while I lie on top of them.” She blinked at him owlishly for several beats before heaving a sigh of relief. He laughed. “Seemed an easier way than how they used to do it here in the States,” he said. “They used to sew the man into a cloth bag, with only his head outside of it for air. Now, I know you are a brilliant seamstress, but I can’t imagine you’d want to do that every night.”

“Oh, my word!” Demelza pictured Ross’s smiling head winking at her from the top of a cloth bag and sank down onto the mattress, rocking back and forth with laughter. Ross joined her and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her close as they chuckled together. Finally, she blotted the tears of hilarity from her eyes with the sleeve of her nightrail and looked up at him. “Thank you, again, dear Ross, for easing my concerns. I am, indeed, a very lucky woman.” She touched his cheek and brushed his lips with hers.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “When I think of how risky the whole idea of starting a marriage over the mail could be, I think we should _both_ consider ourselves to be fortunate in the extreme.” He snuck a kiss before standing up. “Now, you go ahead and get under the covers.” She nodded, slipped in between the cool, clean sheets and drew the bedclothes up to her armpits, folding her hands over her abdomen. She watched as he made his way around to the other side of the bed, dousing all of the oil lamps in the room save the one on the bedside table and laid the quilt over the bedclothes. He flipped the corner back, slid in under it and lay back against the pillow. Her body shifted, rolling towards his as the mattress sank under his weight, until she lay on her side against him, a thick layer of bedding between them.

She’d put a hand out in an attempt to keep from colliding with him, which wound up landing on his chest and sliding into the open placket on the front of his undershirt. Her fingers threaded through the chest hair she’d wanted to desperately to touch, soft and silken against the heat of his skin. “I’m so sorry!” she cried, and went to remove it, only to be stopped by Ross’s hand across hers.

He angled a glance down into her eyes and smiled. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Demelza,” he said softly. “As a matter of fact, this leads me to my next thought on our courtship.” She frowned in confusion up at him. “I want you to get used to our being close like this, so I want to propose another agreement to you.” He stopped, taking her hand from inside his shirt and bringing it to his lips. “I’ve promised that _you_ will be the one to determine when we move forward with our physical relationship, and that I shall only go as far as you are comfortable with. Therefore, I give you permission to touch and explore my body as much or as little as you may wish.” 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza leaned up on her elbow to look down at him. Ross held very still, watching Demelza’s reaction to his proposal. Her eyes revealed every emotion clearly: shock, intrigue, and desire, the last blazing with such ardour it made him iron hard within an instant. He’d found her beautiful the first minute he’d seen her three days before, but had not expected his desire for her to take hold so soon. It was fed by glimpses of a responding need in her for him. She was near enough for him to take in the floral fragrance of her hair, the lingering soap she must have used for her bath and the natural feminine scent that was hers alone and it made him long to taste every inch of her. The simple caress of her tongue across his bottom lip when he’d kissed her and the gentle, involuntary nudge he’d felt of her mound against him mere moments ago had nearly undone his control. He wondered now if he may have set himself up for failure or misery. The former would be unacceptable, the latter, unbearable.

“Ross,” she said in that way that made his bollocks ache with need. “I’ve grown up around five brothers.”

He blinked. That was definitely not the response he’d been expecting from her. “Yes,” he said, shifting until he leaned back against the brass headboard. “You’ve told me you were responsible for raising your younger brothers after your mother died.”

She slid partially out from under the bedclothes to sit next to him. Her cheeks were pink with embarrassment. “I’m not unaware of…of…” she stammered.

“Of what, my dear?” he asked, completely flummoxed. Her eyes flickered down to his lap and back, dark blue with worry. “Oh.” His cheeks grew warm. _Good God._

Her pretty brow furrowed with concern. “Won’t it be cruel for me to…touch you when you do not have the same freedoms with me?”

_Lord, she was adorable._ “Don’t worry about me, Demelza,” he said, sliding his arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. “I will let you know when it becomes too much.” He ignored the voice in the back of his mind which said it was already too much and kissed her temple, meeting her eyes with his own. “Once that happens I would ask for one thing.”

“What is that, Ross?” she asked.

“That you take my hand and place it anywhere you feel comfortable for me to touch.”

She stared at him. _Dumbstruck,_ he thought to himself. He’d honestly expected her to scramble out of bed and rush over to the other side of the room in a thrice so the fact she’d stayed put _was_ a step in the hoped-for direction. However, as the silence stretched out between them he feared he might have pushed things one step too far.

He started when her finger traced down the length of his left cheek. “Your scar,” she said, running her nail along its path, the nerves along the tender skin simmering under her touch. “Tell me.”

“U-Uh,” he stammered, closing his eyes and savouring the sensations her touch spreading through his body. “It happened during the mine accident. A cable snapped during the rock fall and it whipped open my cheek.” He took a deep breath, remembering the incident like it was yesterday until she stroked it again with her thumb.

“Oh, Ross,” she murmured, running her finger along his brow to touch the uppermost tip of the scar. “You almost lost your eye.” She looked at him, compassion in her gaze. “That would have been a shame. They are lovely.”

He smiled, brushing the tip of his finger along her brow and down her nose. “So you mentioned earlier today,” he teased, glad for the temporary diversion.

“You told me they were brown in your letter,” she said, playfully accusatory in tone, “but they are really hazel.”

He blushed. “I suppose they appear brown to me most of the time.”

She shook her head. “Oh no,” she said, her voice low and sultry as she brushed the corner of his left eye with a kiss. “They’ve been the colour of whiskey and sea storms in winter.” Her lips pressed gentle kisses all along the length of the scar. “Forest green and near-black.”

He sucked in a breath and ran his hand down her back, feeling her tremble in response. “You’ve such soft lips, Demelza.”

She drew back to smile into his eyes. “How often do you have to shave each day?” she asked breathlessly, kissing his cheek. “You were clean shaven for the wedding, but this…” She paused; gently scratching her nails against the stubble along his jawline, the rasping sound filling the air around them. “This was back by the time we returned to the boarding house for supper.”

“Twice, if I need to be clean shaven” he whispered. Her breath sighed against his ear and another surge of need rocketed through him.

“You had this when I first saw you,” she said, rubbing her thumb against his cheekbone. “It made you look dangerous, but intriguing.” She looked at him and smiled. “I liked the feel of it against my mouth when you kissed me earlier.”

Her comment drew his attention to her lips, and the desire to kiss her nearly overwhelmed him. Two kisses a day? He was a mad man. “What did it feel like for you?” he whispered.

“Soft, a little prickly,” she said, considering. Her index fingers traced along his upper lip, her thumb stroking his bottom lip. He smiled against the tickling sensation her inquisitive fingers caused before giving them a kiss. He made to give her finger a nip that made her snatch her hand away and giggle. “Ross!” she said, pouting playfully.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he apologized, “but they look tasty.”

She laughed again. “Will you shave while we are out on the trail?” she asked.

“Well,” he chuckled, “now that I know you like a bit of scruff?” He eyed her, and arched his brow. “Probably not.” The small smile that curled the corner of her mouth made him want to haul her down and kiss them both senseless.

Demelza slid back down onto her back, and drew him down next to her. She leaned up on her elbow and slipped a trembling hand into the open placket of his shirt. The heat of her fingers against his skin seared him as they grazed close to his nipple. “Ross?”

“Yes?” he swallowed.

“Can you take off your shirt?” she whispered.

He closed his eyes. He was going to die tonight, he was certain of it. “Of course, my dear,” he said. He took her hand, kissed it and sat up, drawing the shirt over his head and laid back down next to her.

“Oh, Ross.” Her hand stroked him from clavicle to clavicle, tracing the upper border of his chest hair with her index finger. “It’s so soft,” she whispered, fascinated as she traced the outer ring of his nipple with her nail then ran the tip down the centre of his torso along the trail of hair leading to—

“—T-That’s enough, Demelza,” he rasped, closing his eyes, clasping her questing hand with his own and pressing it flat against his stomach.

“Ross, I can feel your heart pounding,” she said, worry clear in her voice. “I knew this would be too much.”

“I will be all right, dearest,” he whispered, clenching his teeth over the throbbing in his loins. He breathed through his nose for several minutes before he was able to open his eyes. He turned on his side to look at her and he was dismayed at the sadness he found in her eyes. “Demelza, I will be fine, I promise you that. Please don’t be upset.”

“If it weren’t for—”

“—Do not mention that animal’s name, Demelza,” he said fiercely. He reached for her, pulling her as close as he could with the bedclothes between them. “Not here. Not now. Not ever.”

She nodded timidly and he wanted to kick himself for using that tone with her, especially after what had just passed between them. They lay quietly in his loose embrace for several minutes before she shifted to look at him. “Ross, give me your hand.”

He heard the tremor in her voice and met her eyes. He shook his head. “We don’t have to go through with this, Demelza.”

“I want to, if you still want to,” she said, pushing the bedclothes down to her waist. “Please?”

Did he want to? He’d walk through fire if only to touch her body, wherever she wanted him to. He placed his hand, palm side up, in hers. She swallowed, huffed out a nervous breath and placed it on her cotton-covered breast.

He forgot to breathe for several seconds. Soft, supple, perfect. It filled his palm, just as he thought it would. He leaned onto his elbow, his eyes fixed on the gentle curve under his hand, so dark against the white fabric. Her nipple pearled under his palm and he shifted his hand to brush it with his thumb. Her sharp inhale drew his gaze to her face, so beautiful in the light of the oil lamp. Her eyes were dark, partially hidden by her lashes and her lips were open, the tip of her tongue barely visible between her teeth.

He leaned forward, his mouth an inch from hers. “Kiss me, please, Demelza,” he pleaded. She opened heavy lids and drew his head down, brushing his lips with hers. A tremor rocked him as he fell into her sweet kiss, desperate to taste her fully, but not wanting to frighten her. His hand gently squeezed her breast, flicked his thumb against her nipple once again and she shivered against him, humming a sigh against his mouth. He groaned, shuddering and slipped his arm under the bedclothes and around her waist, stroking her back through her nightrail. His hips involuntarily thrust against her through the bedclothes and he froze.

“Ross,” she said thickly. He removed his hand from her back, righted the bedclothes around her and rolled onto his back. “Oh, Ross, are you all right?”

He pressed his hand hard against his cock and moaned. Sweet Jesus, he ached for her and he grit his teeth at the agony. He nodded slowly. “Yes, my dear, I will be. But I think that’s enough for tonight.” He threw one arm over his eyes and willed his heart to slow.

“I’m so sorry, Ross!” she said, laying her head on his shoulder.

He raised his arm away from his eyes and drew her close. “There’s nothing to apologize for,” he rasped. “I knew it would be a challenge, but had no idea how much of one.” He kissed her forehead. “Are you all right? I didn’t frighten you, did I?”

She shook her head. “No, not at all,” she murmured. He drew back to look at her and she ducked her head. “Well, maybe a little, but I wanted to see…” she drifted off.

“See what, Demelza?” he asked, concerned.

“You’ve said not to mention him,” she reminded him. “But I wanted to see if what you did would remind me…and it didn’t,” she admitted. “Not at all.” He basked in the delighted smile on her face. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Very good,” he agreed. “You felt wonderful in my hands, my dear.”

She grinned. “So did you.”

He chuckled. “I’m glad.” Her arm slid around his waist and gooseflesh broke out along the naked skin in its path. He gave her a squeeze before brushing her cheek with his lips. “I think we should try to get some sleep now,” he whispered. “Morning will be here soon, and we’ll be up to our eyes in curious boys.”

“All right,” she nodded, yawning. “Good night, Ross. Thank you for a lovely night.”

“Good night, Demelza,” he murmured and, stretching, turned down the oil lamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... we have arrived. I hope you enjoyed it and found this worth the wait. This is a marathon, not a sprint (so to speak) so I hope no one is disappointed. They'll get there, trust me.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who has given kudos, shared their comments and encouragement for the story! It's been such an education and really makes me happy to share with you. Continued gratitude to Rainpuddle for her counsel and beta!


	8. Boundries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Ross was gone when Demelza woke in the morning. He’d left her a note on his pillow, written in block letters she found easy to follow:

> HAVE GONE TO GET THE BOYS. BE BACK SOON.
> 
> R

She smiled, running her fingers along the letters. _Well, it’s clear he learned his lesson about that_ , she thought to herself as she sat up against the headboard. When she picked up the note she’d noticed a single long black hair caught on his pillow, which still showed the dip his head had caused. She slipped out from under the bedclothes and noticed he’d folded the quilt and returned it to its stand so anyone coming into the room would assume they’d shared the bed. _Very considerate_ , she thought to herself, before she stood up and got a start on her day.

She quickly washed – she had no idea when he would be back with Geoffrey Charles and Drake – and laid out a teal shirtwaist she’d made the last week she was in New York and a rust-coloured skirt. She wasn’t certain what they would be doing today, but she suspected he would want to get started on those damnable lists he’d shared yesterday. _Well_ , she thought, looking at the note he’d left her _, he would just have to print out the instructions for her._

As she dressed, she recalled what had happened the night before. Her memories were awash with the touch of his hand on her breast and along the length of her spine, the taste of his mouth, the delicious sounds coming from his throat as they kissed. She closed her eyes, remembering how he had trembled against her as she touched him, the tickle of his chest hair against her fingers and the way her heart surged against her chest when she felt him, hard and insistent, against her hip.

Had Ross been able to get any sleep after they’d stopped their explorations? She’d felt him toss and turn off and on throughout the night, and it made her feel guilty. She knew he would tell her she had no business assuming any guilt for what had happened in their bed, but she believed differently. The anxieties borne from the incident with Polgarry no longer filled her with fear and dread, but fury. They were keeping her from the closeness a wife was supposed to have with her husband, the intimacies she now knew she wanted, desperately.

When she first saw Ross’s advertisement, the prospect of engaging in marital relations made her fearful and queasy. It had been the last, hidden secret she’d kept from him when she responded to his letter. That had begun to change when she first saw him at the stage station. Even in his fury he was beautiful, this stranger she was to marry, and she’d felt a pull from within the moment her eyes had met his. His temper and attitude upon their trip to the boarding house worried her, made her wonder if she’d made a mistake. After all, she’d lived with a man whose temper extended all the way to beatings most of her life, and knew Colin to be of a similar nature. Their talk in the sitting room and seeing the way he was with Geoffrey Charles that first night assured her he was nothing like her father or Colin, at least in _that_ way. _But would Ross be as brutish as Colin when it came to asserting his marital rights_? she’d wondered. After the events of last night the answer to that question was no.

He was a strong man, a passionate one. Each of the intimacies they’d shared the day before, from their first, brief kiss after they’d spoken vows to the last, heady kiss in their bed had revealed the strong desire he held for her, either simmering or boiling right under the surface. It was only in the moments when it had nearly boiled over that a flicker of anxiety, sometimes lasting less than a second, would cause her to pull back. This anxiety warred with a responding physical need for him she’d discovered as well.

“God damn you, Colin!” she barked, thumping her fist on the vanity. Her brush and comb bounced off and onto the floor. _Well, I’ll not have it_ , she thought to herself as she collected her belongings and put them back on the table. Not any more. She would not be the cause of disrupted sleep for either of them, and while she might not be quite ready to consider consummating their marriage, she was prepared to consider – and put into practice – other things. _Like tongue kissing._ The thought rushed into her head as she remembered tracing his bottom lip with her tongue last night. Oh, she was very intrigued by that, and her face warmed at her contemplations! She would share her thoughts on this and other matters with Ross that evening, before they went to bed.

She had just dressed her hair with one of the pretty floral ribbons Ross had purchased for her when she heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. “Geoffrey Charles Poldark, you will knock first!” Ross’s voice boomed from the distance just as the solid oak door crashed open against the wall.

“Auntie Dede!” the little boy squealed and launched himself into her open arms.

“Good morning, dear,” she said joyfully, scooping him up into her lap. “It’s so good to see you.” She noticed a slight acrid smell of bile on his shirt and wondered what on earth had happened before looking up to see Drake enter the room at a more sedate pace. “Drake, good morning!”

“Good morning, sister,” he said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. Ross sidled in and leaned against the door jam. They shared a quick glance, and she noticed he looked quite tired. Still, a half smile curved up the right side of his face, revealing a dimple in his cheek, and she noticed – with a smile of her own – that he _hadn’t_ shaved.

“Auntie Dede,” Geoffrey Charles said, patting her on the shoulder and drawing her attention from her new husband. “Dr Dwight let us go swimming and catch frogs!”

“He did?” she said, amazed. “I hope you didn’t bring any of them home with you,” and quickly took a peek in his trouser pocket. He giggled. “What else did you do?”

“He let us take one back to the saloon to dissect it!” Drake said enthusiastically.

Demelza gaped at him. “Dissect?” she whispered, raising her eyes to meet Ross’s. His shoulders shook with silent laughter. What on earth?

“Geoffrey Charles threw up when I made the first cut,” Drake crowed before ruffling the young boy’s blond hair.

“Oh, don’t mind him, my lad,” she murmured in Geoffrey Charles’s ear, glowering up at her brother. “I would have, too, mark my words.” The boy looked up at her and grinned, then nestled against her chest. She glanced up at Ross, only to discover him looking at her, his sultry eyes blazing with heat that set off a rush of want through her body, settling in her loins. She was gratified to see his eyes darken with intensity as he walked, like a big cat, towards her.

“All right, boys,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers, “you two go get cleaned up for breakfast.” The boys scampered off to the nursery, closing the door behind them. “Good morning, Mrs Poldark.”

His voice was like warm honey against her skin as he pulled her up from the seat and into his arms. His mouth captured hers with a hunger and urgency that made her dizzy with desire. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pressed herself against him, lost in the pleasure of their closeness, chest to breast, hip-to-hip and thigh-to-thigh. She purred in her throat, making him shudder. His body rose in response and he clasped her tighter.

He sighed, the air whistling through his nostrils against her cheek, and ended their kiss. “Good morning, Mr Poldark,” she breathed, pressing a kiss to his jaw before looking up at him, black lashes slowly rising over eyes as dark as coal.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he murmured, leaning forward to nuzzle along her neck. The scratch of his beard against her skin made her toes curl.

She shook her head. “Oh no,” she whispered, not certain she would be able to stand on her own two feet if she had to. “Just happy to see you, Ross.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross’s hands ran up the length of her back as he breathed in the scent she’d placed behind her ear. Vanilla, the smell of home and comfort and he was once again thankful to have been lucky enough to find her. He leaned back to look in her eyes. “How did you sleep, my dear?”

She gave a small shrug. “All right, I suppose,” she said, sliding her hands to rest on his chest, her index finger questing in the open collar of his shirt. _Curious little cat_ , he thought with a wry smile. “I’ve had to share a bed with Drake on occasion, but it was much different with you.”

“I should hope so!” he laughed. She poked him in the ribs and he kissed the tip of her nose. “So, tell me, how was it different?

“You’re bigger than him,” she said simply. “And, as you so indelicately suggested, you _are_ my husband, after all.” She flicked a teasing glance at him through her lashes before pausing to think. “You smell different, too.”

“Like what?” he asked, interested to know if she liked his scent as much as he liked hers.

She bit her bottom lip and he barely kept from groaning. “Leather, bay rum, sometimes horses…and tobacco, although I don’t know where that comes from—”

“—I’ll have a pipe with Dwight on occasion,” he said. He nuzzled the other side of her neck and enjoyed her purr. “What else?”

“I’m not sure what it is, but it’s just you,” she said softly.

“Do you like it?” he asked, looking into her eyes suddenly feeling rather desperate to know the answer.

She blushed, sweet and pink, along her cheekbones. “Yes, very much.”

He gave a little sigh of relief. “We’ll be around horses quite a bit, so I’m glad you won’t find that bothersome.” He pressed his cheek against her hair. “I like your scent as well,” he murmured, breathing in the fragrance of her once again. “Flowers, linen, cinnamon – from those candies you favour – and vanilla?” He looked at her. She nodded happily. “I noticed that earlier.”

“I thought I would try some.”

“I like it very much,” he said, lowering his mouth to hers and coming up short. “Damn. Have to wait until tonight.”

She raised her brows. “Ross, about the agreement,” she said, “I think we can set that aside.”

He looked at her. “Are you certain of that, my dear?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I am your wife. You should be able to kiss me whenever you wish.” She pressed a kiss to his chin. “And I should like that very much.”

“I will be respectful when we are in public, I promise, Demelza.” He brushed her lips with his own. “Unless you require consolation and reassurance.” He winked and grinned and earned another poke in the ribs.

She stepped out of his arms and moved over to tidy the bed. “How did you sleep last night, Ross?” she asked. She turned when he didn’t respond. “Ross?”

He looked at her, searching for the words. In truth, he’d had a perfectly miserable night’s sleep and it had all been his fault. He’d laid there after dousing the lamp for nearly forty-five minutes, more aroused than he’d ever been in his life before he finally went into the other room to attend to his predicament. He’d felt sullied when he finished, at a loss of what to do other than to make a palette on the floor to sleep on. But sleeping separately would not do anything to help her become more comfortable around him or bring them closer as man and wife.

He glanced down, her pretty face a map of worry and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “Like I said last night, I knew it would be difficult, but not as difficult as it turned out to be.” He raised his head and saw the boys come back into their room, faces washed and dressed in clean clothes. “We can discuss this more later, my dear,” he whispered before addressing the room as a whole. “Shall we go to breakfast?”

 

Ross discussed his plans for the day over a hearty breakfast of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes and several cups of coffee, only occasionally interrupted by a random declaration or question from Geoffrey Charles to Demelza. He’d rewritten the lists of supplies he wanted Demelza to help organize during the previous mostly-sleepless night, and made a point to ensure she was able to manage through the information. The beaming smile she gave him was a balm to his weary mind. He would also accompany her to assist after they’d all gone to select the livestock.

Thirty minutes later, the Poldark-Carne family made their way to the stockyard, where Dwight raised his hand in greeting. He’d given Demelza a congratulatory kiss, which had made her squeal and turn scarlet and Ross glower darkly at his friend. Once she’d regained her composure, Ross had warned Demelza of Geoffrey Charles’s last visit to the place so she could make sure they didn’t have a repeat performance. She managed to keep the little boy engaged with the process without him wandering off to investigate the dung heap. In the end, Ross, Dwight and Drake selected six oxen from the stockyard, but would need to travel to Independence or St. Louis for the other two as well as both milking cows. A break for dinner and then it was back out to the general store. They were more successful in filling nearly all of the needs for foodstuffs and cooking equipment, but ran out of luck when it came to the tents they would need.

By the time they’d finished with everything they could accomplish in St Joseph, the little family was near exhaustion. Geoffrey Charles lay slumped in Ross’s arms fast asleep as they climbed the steps towards their rooms. Even Drake looked a little worse for the wear and mumbled something about skipping supper and sleeping for the rest of his life. Demelza told him to lie down for a couple of hours and she’d wake him, leaving she and Ross to return to their own room.

“Demelza,” Ross said about an hour later, glancing over his shoulder at his bride, who seemed to be somewhat subdued. He’d finally gathered his clothing from the other room and was getting settled into their joint accommodations.

“Hmmm?” she said distractedly. The tip of her tongue peeked out from between her lips, curled at the corner of her mouth, a signal of her concentration. They’d worked side by side for nearly an hour, combining lists and documenting items she’d identified they would need for their journey. She then transferred all of the missing items onto a single sheet of paper. “To practice my letters,” she’d said.

“Is something amiss?” he asked, placing his socks and undergarments into the chest of drawers. It was odd seeing his rough homespun clothes next to her more delicate unmentionables, but he grinned just the same.

She raised her head. “There’s so much here, Ross,” she said, standing and walking over to where he stood to show him her list. Her handwriting was neat and very legible, with only a few words misspelled. He stroked her back with pride. “Will it be possible to gather everything before we are set to leave?”

“We will have to,” he sighed, kissing her temple and returned to his clothing. “We certainly cannot set out on the trail without tents and rifles.” He frowned and set aside his buckskin trousers. Dwight and I will set out first thing in the morning.” He waited for her response then turned when she didn’t say anything. Her eyes had darkened and reflected the sadness that showed in her posture.

“You’re leaving me here?” she asked, her voice hollow.

“Only for a few days, my dear, three at the most,” he said, striding over to her and clasping her hands. “Mr Gray at the stockyard said he’d heard they’d just received new oxen in Independence, and there may be a larger wagon, too. We’ll need one if we want to set up some space for Geoffrey Charles to play and sleep in during the day, like you suggested. And I know the hardware store has more items than the one here.”

“And there’s no way for us to go with you, as a family?” she said, walking over to the window.

“Not yet,” he said. He walked over to stand behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Besides,” he said softly, turning her to face him, “it may not be such a bad idea for us to have some time…to think.”

She furrowed her brow. “Are you already having regrets about marrying me, Ross?” Tears trembled on her lower lids.

“Jesus, no, Demelza, not at all,” he rasped, hauling her against him and into his arms. “I told you last night, I consider myself to be fortunate beyond words to have answered your letter.” He held her close, his cheek resting on her soft, fragrant hair. “Just seeing how you were with Geoffrey Charles today was a balm. I’ve been worried about the lad.”

She leaned back to look at him. “You’ve done a marvellous job with him, Ross.”

He shrugged. “I’ve done what I could, given my almost non-existent knowledge of how to raise a child, but it’s clear he adores you and follows direction from you much better than he has me.”

”He’s still trying to impress, I think,” she said with a smile.

“He’s needed a nurturing touch, and he’s responding to it like a thirsty man at a desert oasis.”

“Then why do you feel we need time to think?” she asked. “It’s about what happened last night. Or, I should say, what didn’t happen.”

His brows snapped together. “Demelza, I knew there was no chance for us to do all of the things _I_ wished to do last night,” he said. “But I’m telling you, my concern has more to do with underestimating how much I want you.” He stroked her hair. “I didn’t think my need for you would be _this_ strong, this soon. I lay in bed next to you last night, aching for you until I…” He trailed off, not able to bring himself to say the words. He glanced at her and discovered he didn’t have to. Her cheeks flamed red with embarrassment. He turned, walked over to the bed and sat down. “I am a grown man, not some youngster, still wet behind the ears. I should be able to—”

“—Have the self-control of a saint?” she said gently, walking over to join him on the bed. She took his hand. “What you did last night was so very admirable, Ross.” He snorted. “You sacrificed so much to try what you did, and I am grateful for your concern.”

She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him, her lips feather soft against his. “How I can be sure that I will be able to stop next time?” he asked.

“I can sleep with the boys,” she said simply.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he laughed. “If anyone should sleep with them it’s me. But I’ll not have that for us.”

“Well, then maybe I need to be pushed a little,” she declared. Ross looked at her, more than a little shocked. “Maybe I need to be edged beyond the limits?”

He sat next to her, folding his long leg underneath the other and pulling her into his arms. “I will not be responsible for causing you any further distress, my dear. And that means we will go at your pace, by your rules.” He held her close for several minutes before peering into her face. “Look. We’re both tired. Let’s spend the evening with the lads and have an early night, to just sleep.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza sat in the chair near the fireplace, brushing her hair. She’d closed her eyes and focused in the rhythmic pull of the bristles through the strands, hoping it would ease some of the tension in her shoulders. They’d had a lovely evening with the boys, walking over to the park after supper and sitting on the grass to watch the shooting stars. She’d leaned against her new husband, relaxing against his strong chest while he’d run the backs of his fingers up and down against her arm. She spent more time watching the expressions on the boy’s faces than the stars as they smiled and gaped over the flitting lights in the sky. She’d turned to look up at Ross and found his face to be dazzled, child-like by the show.

How lucky was she? She must have wished on a dozen stars tonight, for courage and stubbornness, for she knew she’d need both to convince him of her idea. She only wished she had more time before he had to leave.

Ross escorted them back to the boarding house then headed over to the saloon: it was his standing poker game with Dwight and he would have a chance to discuss the details of their trip. Demelza got Geoffrey Charles washed and ready for bed, and told him a bedtime story about silkies. She delighted in listening to him giggle sleepily as she spun the tale. Eventually, the little boy had dozed off and, after wishing Drake a good night, had gone into her room.

She’d just changed into her nightrail and begun brushing her hair when a soft knock came on the door. “Come in?” Her brother stepped into the room. “Drake, I feel as if we haven’t had a chance to talk at all.” She set the brush down and turned to look at him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well enough, Demelza,” he said, sitting Indian-style on the carpet in front of her. She grinned and scrambled down to join him, something they’d liked to do as long as she could remember.

“Quite the day today,” she said, giving his knee a squeeze. “All of those oxen, Drake! Are you up for the challenge?”

He nodded, puffing his chest out a bit. “I know I am,” he said. “I still can’t believe Ross has given me that responsibility.” His fair brows furrowed, an echo of her own. “I hope I don’t let him down.”

“You won’t,” she said, “but if you need help with something, say something before it goes amiss. He doesn’t expect you to know everything.”

“You sound like you’re more comfortable with him.” Drake gave her an assessing look. “How are you, really?”

“I am all right, truly,” she said, smiling. “I am very happy to be married to him.” She paused, wondering how much does a person tell their twelve-year-old brother in a situation like this? Not much. “There are a few things we still need to get sorted.”

Drake nodded. “This has to do with Colin, doesn’t it?”

She blushed. Damn him for being as perceptive as he was! “In part, yes. And that’s all I’ll say about it, Drake. Heavens!”

“But he is treating you right?” he asked, concerned.

She smiled. “Oh yes, very much so.”

The door of the bedroom opened and Ross stood, blinking down at them from the threshold, black leather saddlebags over his shoulder. “Are the chairs by the fireplace not sufficient?” he quipped, a grin creasing his cheek.

Demelza laughed. “We used to do this all the time,” she said, taking his proffered hand to help her rise to her feet. Drake scrambled up and gave her a hug. “Good night, Drake. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“G’night, you two,” he said, casting a wary eye on Ross before he went back into the nursery.

“What was that for?” Ross asked, frowning after his new brother-in-law.

“Oh, he’s just being overly protective,” she said, rising on tiptoe to give him a kiss. She breathed in deeply. “Tobacco,” she mused.

He nodded. “Are you certain you don’t mind?”

She cocked her head. “You’ve such white teeth,” she said thoughtfully. “T’would be a shame if they became stained. But if it is your custom, I’ll not worry overmuch.”

“Understood, ma’am,” he said with a grin. He slid the saddle bags off his shoulder and placed them on the bed. “Did you think of anything else we need?”

She nodded. “I’ve added them to the list, although there are a few things I know I can find here. I can manage that while you are away, if you wish.” She paused. “Ross, do you need anything repaired or made for you before we go? I noticed you’ve only a couple of shirts and one pair of trousers that looks worse for the wear.”

He turned and arched a brow. “Rifling through my clothes, Mrs Poldark?” She blushed. “I could use some new shirts and trousers.”

“I’ll add them to my list,” she said.

He moved around the room, pulling out clothing and items he would need for the trip. Her eyes widened when she saw the pistol and holster he pulled out from the shelf in the wardrobe and set it on the chair. Would he be in danger out there? The prospect of his being hurt or killed made her lightheaded with dread for a moment and she sat down on the bed. She was grateful he was too preoccupied to notice her distress – it would be one more things to distract them from what she wished to discuss with him.

“Demelza, will you be all right here alone with the boys?”

The sudden question wrested her from her morbid musings. She cleared her throat. “Yes, we will be fine,” she said, honestly. Spending time with Geoffrey Charles and Drake would help the time pass, and she was grateful to have the distraction during her husband’s absence. She rose and walked over to where he stood, holding a pair of socks in his hands. “But I will miss you, Ross.”

He grinned, taking her in his arms. “I shall miss you as well, my dear,” he said softly. He lifted her chin to look in her eyes. “About what we talked about earlier, I do think it will do us good to have a few days apart.”

“Ross, I don’t want us to be across purposes before you go,” she said, and pressed her forehead against the warmth of his chest.

“We aren’t,” he said, frowning. “But I don’t understand what you mean by ‘pushing’ you. Edging you beyond your limits.” He held her at arm’s length. “I don’t want to hurt you or make you remember horrible things.”

“And I’m not asking you to do that—”

“—You _do_ remember it was only yesterday that you reacted to my gripping your arms too hard,” he interrupted.

“Yes, of course I do,” she acknowledged. “Please, Ross. I’ve done a great deal of thinking today and I want to share it with you.” She touched his chest. “Come to bed. I wish to talk to you while we’re in it.”

He frowned at her once more, then nodded. She turned and clambered under the bedclothes. She watched as he stripped off his clothing, revealing tantalizing and wildly distracting glimpses of his body as he removed his waistcoat and shirt, then boots and trousers. He glanced over his shoulder at one point and grinned broadly when he noticed her face. She coughed and busied herself pleating and un-pleating the sheet in front of her. _One day_ , she thought to herself through a sea of desire, _I will be the one doing that for him._

When he picked up the quilt to place on his side of the bed, she shook her head and folded back the coverlet and sheets next to her. The teasing grin disappeared from his face and his eyes grew dark. “Demelza, I don’t think that is wise.”

“Please, hear me out, and if you are still concerned we can go on like before, with the quilt. “Please, Ross?” He sighed heavily and set it down, walked around the bed and slid in under the sheets. Heat radiated from his body and she was immediately aware of the difference it made from last night’s arrangement.

She slipped close to him, resting her head on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen, but forged ahead. “I thought long and hard about what happened yesterday, and I’ve come to some conclusions. Some of my reactions come from a couple of different places: on one hand, that a particular experience is new and, because I like you and…am drawn to you, I want to explore them with you.” She took his hand and linked their fingers. “Like when you kissed me in the park the other day. It was…” She paused, looking at him, his eyes troubled. “It was lovely. Passionate and intense, and not frightening in the least.”

“I’m glad of that, Demelza,” he murmured, stroking the top of her hand with his thumb.

She swallowed. “On the other hand, it is that I remember a particular thing happening, and it’s frightening me.”

“Like when I gripped your arms, I know,” he said, sounding impatient.

She touched his arm. “Yes _and_ no, Ross, but just give me another moment to make it clear.” She swallowed. “I think there is something that exists between those two, where I _may_ be remembering, and it’s making me a little afraid, but I want to try it with you. Because I desire you and want to be with you.” She turned, grasped his hand in hers and squeezed. “That is the edge I’m trying to describe and what I would propose to you.”

She rose to her knees and sat back on her haunches. “I suggest we explore that edge. And if I am nervous, but not frightened, we move forward. If it is too much, I will tell you to stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I KNOW! But I had to stop it there. Trust me. You'll thank me for it. Someday.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who has supported this work. I'm so very pleased to know you all are enjoying this! Rainpuddle has been a wonderful support and beta -- thank you, my friend!
> 
> I think I'm going to put together a Pinterest page with photos of things that are inspiring me as I'm writing. I'll be sure to post it (if I get around to it) as soon as it's ready to go.
> 
> Thanks again and more to come very soon!


	9. Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Ross looked at his new wife, her beautiful eyes dark in the dim light of the oil lamp, her proposal ringing in his ears. _“I suggest we explore that edge. And if I am nervous, but not frightened, we move forward. If it is too much, I will tell you to stop.”_ He admired the bravery she demonstrated and appreciated the logic of her thoughts and discernment, but all he could do at the present was allow his mind to reel with the prospects of her request.

Blood rushed to his loins, leaving his head slightly dizzied with its departure. The nearness of her, her knees touching his, with nothing more than a few scraps of cotton keeping them both shielded, but not enough. He could see her nipples tenting the nightrail from her breasts, tempting his tongue’s caress. And he didn’t have to look to know his cock pressed hard and insistent against the fabric of his underdrawers.

“Ross,” she said, her voice soft and throaty.

He held up his hand. “Give me a moment, Demelza, please,” he asked, his eyes meeting hers, nervous yet certain. _More certain than he was at this moment_ , he freely admitted to himself. He rose from the bed to stand at the hearth, bracing his hands against the mantle. He forced himself to consider what she’d asked. Embarking on these explorations would give her the opportunity to appreciate the difference in his touch, coupled with their mutual desire for one another, as well as give _her_ the choice to banish the images and experiences she’d had with that thrice-damned bastard, Polgarry.

Did she know anything about a man’s sexual response, beyond what she’d been forced to know? _Enough to know we were prone to self-abuse_ , he remembered with a flush, _but she couldn’t have helped to raise five boys without discovering that_. But he was determined not to hide anything from her. He owed her honesty in all things. She would have to know.

“All right,” he said hoarsely, still staring into the flames.

“I’m sorry?” she said over his shoulder. He turned to find her standing behind him, moonlight streaming in through the window and silhouetting her body in her nightrail. He closed his eyes as another surge of desire flooded him, made him groan aloud. “Ross?”

“I said yes, Demelza,” he said, walking over to slip his hands around her waist. He drew her tight against him, leaving no question of the effect she had upon him. She quivered against him and tilted her hips towards his. _Jesus._ “I would ask for clarification on what I should be listening for you to say to me. So I don’t make a mistake.”

She cleared her throat. “Yes, if I have no objections to experience it with you. Try, if it’s something making me nervous, but I want to try it with you. Stop if I’m frightened and need to stop.” She ran her hands across his chest, her thumbs brushing against the tiny nubs of his nipples.

“God,” he breathed, swallowing hard, before looking into her eyes. “I still have concerns, my dear.” He brushed her cheek with his lips. “I care for you very much, and wouldn’t wish to hurt you for all the world. But there are limits to what I can manage.” He paused, searching for a delicate way to say what he wished. “Both men and women respond to sexual arousal in involuntary ways. I can do my best to control my response to you until it reaches a certain point.” He leapt upon an example. “Last night, when you ran your finger down my stomach, and I stopped you.” She nodded. “It was because I could no longer be sure I wouldn’t tighten my grip upon you, or become more intense in my kisses and caresses…that I wouldn’t thrust myself against you until I reached my release.”

She nodded again, standing on tiptoe to kiss his jaw. “It was so unfair of me to do that to you, Ross.”

“No, it wasn’t, Demelza,” he implored. “Whatever happens between us here, and in our bed, should be given freely, shared and welcomed by both of us. There should never be any guilt, shame or obligation in what we do. For either of us.” He kissed her, longingly, running his hands along the length of her spine to her hips. “I will be completely honest with you, and ask the same from you, always. And in that vein, I will tell you if I ever get to a state like the one I was in last night…when I went to the other room?” He looked for her acknowledgement. “I will not hide it from you again. You will know everything there is to know about my response to you. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “I-I do,” she whispered, a slight tremor discernable in her voice.

His knees nearly went weak with relief. “Is there anything you wish to try right away?” he asked, feeling as if he’d just stepped off the edge of a cliff towards deep water the colour of her eyes.

She blushed and nodded; a life ring to cling to for safety. “I should like to kiss you and taste you with my tongue.”

A breath he hadn’t known he held burst from his mouth as he laughed, drawing her close in a tight embrace. “Yes, of course, Demelza,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and lowering his mouth to hers.

Her lips were succulent, like the oranges he’d had on the ship bound for America. They were sweet, so mobile against his. Her fingers slipped through his hair, sending shivers down his spine and he groaned softly. Her tongue slipped between his open lips, stroked his and made him tremble. “Demelza,” he growled against her mouth, and fed upon hers. Her murmured sighs, her nails against his shoulders intensified his need and their heads moved together, against each others until she pulled back, her chest heaving against his as she gulped air into her lungs.

“Ross,” she whispered, panting against his wet lips. “Oh, Ross.”

He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed, lying down next to her and taking her mouth once more. She shifted them, until she lay partially across his chest, his head pressed deep into the pillow as she kissed and nibbled and tasted his mouth. “Peppermint,” she hummed against his lips.

“Cinnamon,” he responded, nipping her bottom lip, nudging her until she lay on her side next to him. “My cinnamon girl.” She giggled and kissed him again. Her hand slipped under the hem of his undershirt. The first touch of her hand against his naked back, her nails tracing the ridge of his spine made him quake and murmur nonsense words against her mouth. She tugged at the shirt, urging him to sit up so she could strip it up and over his head, laughing as a couple of the stitches gave way with her insistence. She kissed him once more, gently tangling her tongue with his and, sorting out her breathing at last, drew him down to delight in one another’s embrace.

Some time later, Ross raised his head and nuzzled her jaw, the ivory column of her neck arching to allow him access to the sensitive skin there. His teeth nipped on the flesh between her neck and shoulder and she squeaked. “Too much?” he asked.

“N-No,” she stammered. “I’ve seen horses do that before, but didn’t know people did it too.”

 _Oh, sweetheart_ , he thought to himself, _what an education you have ahead of you_. “It is not uncommon for people to mark their lovers on their necks,” her murmured against her ear, “or other places.” He chuckled as her eyes widened with shock. “We will save that for another time, my dear.” She shook her hair free from its plait when he asked her to, and he delighted in the loose, flowing waves against his fingers. He kissed her softly, and then lifted his hand to caress her breast. She arched her back, bringing her flesh closer against his palm. “I should like to taste you here,” he rasped, his thumb brushing against her hardened nipple. “May I?”

“Yes,” she breathed. He shuddered, lowering his mouth to the cloth-covered bud, using his tongue and teeth to bathe it. She writhed beneath him and he flicked a glance up to see her face. It was awash with pleasure, her smile riveting. He looked down at her nipple, rose-pink through the damp cotton and yearned to lift it away from her skin. As if she’d read his thoughts, she lurched up to a sitting position and shrugged out of the top of her gown.

“Oh, Demelza,” he breathed. Lovely and pear-shaped, sprinkled with gooseflesh and fine golden down, her breasts gleamed in the firelight. He leaned up on one shoulder to capture her naked nipple in his mouth and groaned his pleasure. Her skin tasted sweet, and the scent of flowers enveloped him as he drew her back down to the bed. Her fingers once again threaded through his hair, holding him close to her. His cock ground against her hip as he lost himself in their embrace. He shifted his head to give her other breast the same attention and slid his right leg in between her knees.

“Try.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

She felt him freeze against her and she closed her eyes. Oh, everything had been beyond any expectation she may have had. She could spend the rest of her life kissing him, and having him kiss her in return. His tongue had felt so right against hers, his taste so different than…she slammed the door on Colin in her mind and fumbled with the key to lock it.

She’d been a little frightened when he’d asked to put his mouth on her breast, but she wanted…needed it so badly. It had been better than she could have hoped, the sensation of his mouth, pulling and suckling at her breast. She’d had to rid herself of the fabric between them, and lost herself as pleasure coursed through her body when his teeth grazed the rigid pearl of flesh.

Then, an icy trickle of fear eased up her spine as his hard, muscular leg pressed then slid in between her knees and the word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“Ross?” she whispered.

Fine tremors coursed through his body as he removed his leg and lay next to her. Seconds passed. She began to feel exposed and made to slip her arms back into her nightrail when his hand gently stopped her. “Give me a moment, sweetheart,” he rasped, “unless you need to.” She nestled close against him, wrapping her arm around his waist. The soft brush of his chest hair against her nipples made her close her eyes with delight. He drew her in and kissed her gently. “Tell me what happened.”

She swallowed and told him, relaxing with each moment that ticked by. He stroked her back as she spoke and kissed her softly when she tilted her head up to meet his. “I’m sorry, Ross,” she murmured against his mouth.

“There is no need to apologize, Demelza, remember?” he counselled. “Now, by your saying ‘try’ you mean that you wish to try this a bit, yes?” She nodded. “Tell me what worried you about my leg?”

She frowned, trying to figure out how to put it in words. “I think it had to do with your body beginning to cover mine,” she said. “You’d been…leaning over me, kissing my breast, and then you shifted over me a little more. I felt a little closed in.”

“So, if we were to try it this way?” He shifted to his side, drawing her flush against him. His knee nudged hers apart and his thigh slid in between hers. She gasped, the soft rasp of the cotton from his drawers sending flutters of sensation to her groin. “Is that better?”

His voice was lower, much lower than it had been before, and his eyes were the darkest of green in the lamplight. “Y-yes, much better,” she stammered. Her hips flexed against his thigh and he groaned, his hand sliding down to cup her buttock and still her. The strength of his fingers against her flesh made her moan and grip his thigh between hers. “Ross,” she panted, squirming against him, compelled to draw his leg up, just an inch or two more.

“Hard to stop,” he said through gritted teeth, his fingers squeezing rhythmically, answering the pulse deep within her. “I can’t, my dear. He slipped his leg out from between hers and turned onto his back, his arm covering his eyes as they’d done last night. “No more tonight, Demelza.” His chest heaved as he pulled gulps of air through his open mouth. “Jesus, oh God.” He turned and faced away from her, curling into a ball and trembled.

She did slip her arms into her nightrail at this point, sitting up to place a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?” The flesh shivered under her hand and he rolled over onto his back. Her eyes looked down his chest to the waistband of his drawers where the tip of his erection had edged up from underneath. Its broad head was fully free of the foreskin and glistened in the lamplight. Blood rushed to her cheeks and she raised her eyes to meet his, staring unblinkingly back at her. His hands were clenched on either side of his hips. _Oh, my sweet man,_ she thought to herself, and stretched out her hand to touch him.

“No! Don’t!” he cried a second too late as her index finger stroked down his length. He groaned, knocking her hand away. He reached down with his own, shoving the garment out of the way to expose his erection. Thick, rising and falling with his heartbeat, he grasped it, stroked it hard, the rhythm merciless as she watched, an answering rhythm causing her centre to clench, throb. “So-s-sorry,” he choked, his hips bucking against his hand as a pulsing flood of pearl-white liquid shot out from his penis to land thickly against his stomach and chest. His legs twitched; he gasped and hissed her name from a throat that sounded parched from a week in the desert. She pressed her thighs together, responding to all she’d witnessed, the lips of her sex growing thick and wet, a pulse settling deep and heavy in her womb.

She started to back away from him, to allow him a moment of privacy to compose himself, when his other hand reached for hers, his fingers twining with hers. “Stay,” he whispered, pulling her down next to him, “lie here with me a moment.” She nodded, picking up the discarded undershirt near her hip and using it to blot him dry. He huffed a laugh. “Made a bit of a mess.”

“It’s all right, dearest,” she murmured, revelling in the ability to tend to him in such a way. They were quiet for several minutes while his breathing returned to normal. She glanced down to see his penis, soft in repose against the skin of his scrotum, a pulse matching that she heard under her ear gently stirring the flesh in its slumber.

“Do you mind?” he asked, hooking his thumbs on the waistband to draw them down. She shook her head and he sighed, lifting his hips off the bed to shove them off of his buttocks and down his legs to land with a flump onto the floor. “Join me under the covers?” She nodded as they scrambled under the comfort of the sheets.

“Ross?” she whispered.

“Yes, Demelza?” he said, snuggling her closer to him and stroking her tumbledown hair.

“Is what happened to you fairly typical of…of...” she said, stumbling over her words.

He chuckled. “Usually not that quickly,” he murmured, kissing her on the cheek. He turned to prop his head on his hand, his other hand resting on her stomach. His thumb stroked her ribs just under her left breast and her toes curled from the caress. “I was very, very aroused tonight and couldn’t bear to have your touch me there, not tonight. Perhaps another night, if you are interested.”

“Oh, yes,” she said eagerly then blushed at her own enthusiasm. Ross laughed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly. “What does it feel like? Reaching your…release? I think that’s what you called it.”

He nodded. “Release, climax…sometimes it’s referred to as coming,” he said, almost shyly. Demelza was charmed by the ruddy colour that showed on the crest of his cheeks. He paused, staring up at the ceiling for several moments before returning his gaze to hers. “It’s similar to the coals you see at a blacksmith’s shop being fed by the bellows. It grows, blowing hotter and brighter until any control you may have had over your body starts to slip.” He looked at her. “It’s hard to think, hard to breathe, even. And when it happens, it’s almost like you’re weightless, floating.”

She pressed her knees together, squirming a bit against the residual arousal that glowed like the embers he spoke of, resting in her groin. “It looked as if it hurt you,” she murmured.

“In a way,” he admitted, “but not in the way you think of if you should cut or burn yourself. It’s pleasurable, the most pleasurable feeling in the world.” He lifted her chin to look into her eyes. “It’s something women can experience, too.”

She blinked at him. “Truthfully?”

He nodded. “Yes.” He looked at her, his eyes sleepy and smouldering gold. “Would you like to try?”

His words speared through to her groin. His hand stroked her hip and her eyes grew heavy. “Yes, try,” she whispered and kissed him.

His tongue stroked hers urgently before breaking away to watch her. “Just say the word and I’ll stop, Demelza,” he said.

She nodded. His hand stroked the inside of her knee and she trembled, shifted against the mattress and felt her hips flex up towards his hand. The backs of his fingers brushed against the thatch of hair at the apex of her thighs and he groaned against her throat. He reached to pull the hem of her nightrail out of the way. It snagged under her hip and he tugged, hard, to shift it. A momentary flash of memory – Colin’s hand hauling up her skirts – clutched at her chest and she trembled from head to foot. “S-Stop, please,” she cried.

Ross froze, his hand stilled on her outer thigh. “What happened, my girl? Tell me.” She turned in his arms and clutched at him, her arms clasping around his back. She told him, dashing her tears away as the story passed her lips.

“Oh Demelza, I’m so sorry,” he murmured. His arms enfolded her, stroking her hair and back. His deep voice was soothed her, gentling and brushing the lingering memories away.

“I didn’t even think about it until that moment,” she said sadly.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said, kissing her temple. “One day soon I promise to show you. When you are ready.”

“Yes, Ross,” she nodded. She breathed deep his musky scent, taking comfort in his nearness and wishing he didn’t have to leave her so soon. 

He kissed her, his tongue stroking hers gently. “We need to get some sleep tonight, my dear. I’ve a long ride ahead of me in the morning and it won’t do any of us any good if I fall asleep in the saddle and pitch off my horse.” He sat up, pulling out of her arms.

“Ross?” she asked, confused.

He rose from bed, glorious in his nudity, and gathered the quilt from the stand. “I don’t trust that I would be able to leave you alone or keep my promises to you during the night, so I’ll sleep atop the covers again. No arguments,” he said when she would have interrupted him. “But thank you for such a lovely evening, Demelza. The memory will help keep me warm while I am away from you.”

The next morning, Demelza woke to find herself nestled against Ross’s chest, the quilt dangerously close to slipping off onto the floor to leave him exposed. Her own bedclothes were twisted around her hips and she smiled. _Well, we tried,_ she thought to herself.

She went to wake him, but stopped as she drank in the beauty of his body. He looked so young, she thought, his face relaxed in slumber. His mouth was slightly open and he snored lightly. It seemed to make him more human in a way. His hair was an explosion of black curls against the pillow and she imagined her own, still loose from the night before, rivalled his. His body glowed golden against the whiteness of the sheets, and her hand stroked the thick hair covering his chest.

He hummed, deep in his throat. “Good morning, cinnamon girl,” he rumbled and opened his eyes. Whisky-brown and green, her favourite.

She giggled at the nickname. “Good morning, Ross,” she whispered and kissed him. “Get under the covers with me?”

He blinked sleepily, looked down and chuckled. “So much for good intentions,” he said, tossing the quilt to the floor and joined her. She purred as he wrapped her close and kissed her senseless. “Did you sleep well?”

She nodded. “And you?”

“Very well, my dear,” he murmured. He looked out the window and sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s time for me to get up to leave.”

Demelza nodded sadly, stroking his chest. “How long will you be gone again?”

“Three days at least, if we ride hard there,” he said softly, “Four at the most.” He lingered over another kiss before brushing his lips across her cheek and rising from the bed. He was beautiful, naked in sunlight, golden skin sprinkled liberally with silky black hair. His fingers scratched low on his belly, an inch or so above the curling black nest at the top of his thighs. He noticed the direction of her gaze and smiled. He was semi-erect and responded to her continue attentions, thickening before her eyes. He picked up his robe, slipped it on his shoulders and secured the tie around his waist. “I’ll bring up some warm water for washing, my dear. Back soon.”

Demelza breathed out a massive sigh as the door to the bedroom closed behind him and flopped back onto the mattress. _How on earth have I been this lucky?_ she thought to herself once again as she reflected on her night with Ross. Kind, sympathetic, strong, passionate, and so very attractive. And he was so free and unencumbered when it came to his body. She looked down, inside the collar of her nightrail, saw the pale breasts, the russet curls covering her mound, and wondered if she would ever have the courage to completely remove the garment and walk, naked, here in the room? Around him?

She was in the act of removing one of her arms from the sleeve when the door from the nursery opened and a sleepy, hiccuping Geoffrey Charles came into the room. “Geoffrey Charles!” she said, hastily shoving her arm back into her sleeve. She noticed the tears on his cheeks and was out of bed in a flash. She drew the boy into her arms. “Whatever is the matter?”

One discrete sniff of his nightshirt revealed the problem. “I wet the bed, Auntie Dede,” he said tearfully.

“Never you mind that, dear,” she murmured. “We will get that sorted out right away.” She took his hand and walked into the room. Sure enough, a wet patch stained the sheet on his cot.

Drake sat up, bleary eyed. “Whazgoinon?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Nothing to concern you, Drake,” she said. “I’m sorry we woke you, but it is time to get up for breakfast. Can you go to the water closet and fetch some warm water for the ewer?” Drake glowered at her – he never was one for being cheerful in the mornings – stretched, donned his robe, grabbed the pitcher and shuffled out the door. She turned her attention to her young nephew. “Now, let’s see about getting this changed, hmm? Then a quick wash for you and you’ll be right as rain, you’ll see.”

She found extra sheets in the wardrobe and stripped the cot as Geoffrey Charles watched her from Drake’s bed. She would need to ask Ross if this was a common occurrence for the boy so that she could try to sort out what needed to be done to keep it from happening again. Ross hadn’t mentioned anything about this when they’d first spoken about Geoffrey Charles, so she wondered if it might have something to do with her husband’s departure. She tucked that away in her thoughts to mull over later.

Drake returned with the water, so she stripped the soiled nightshirt from Geoffrey Charles and gave him a bath, and smiled at the memory of tending to her brothers in such a way when they were little lads. “Do you know I used to give your cousin Drake baths when he was a little boy?” she said in a whisper loud enough to reach her brother’s ears. They turned pink with embarrassment.

“Really?” Geoffrey Charles said, holding up his arm as she scrubbed.

“Yes I did,” she said. “He wiggled as much as you do!” The boy giggled and wiggled, making her laugh. What a sunny lad!

“What’s going on in here?” a voice said from around the door. Demelza turned to find her husband standing in the threshold, freshly shaved and dressed for travel. And her mouth went dry.

He wore a deep forest-green waistcoat over a white collarless shirt, tucked into a pair of buckskin trousers the colour of walnuts. The trousers fit as if they’d been made for him and looked butter soft to the touch. Which was what she wanted to do, very, very much. Her eyes rested on the soft bulge at the apex of his thighs and she felt the room swim a little as a wave of desire ran through her from head to foot. _Judas!_ She gave herself a shake and raised her eyes to meet his. She blushed, for he had clearly noticed the rapt attention she’d given his groin.

“J-Just giving Geoffrey Charles a quick bath, Ross,” she said with as much grace as she could muster, considering the truly wicked thoughts his appearance had set off in her brain. She rinsed the boy off and wrapped him in a towel before picking him up. “You look like you’re ready to go.”

He nodded. “Just about. Have a few more things to get settled first.” He looked at the boys. “Breakfast in fifteen minutes, gentlemen,” he called out, “then it’s off to the stables to collect the horses. Demelza,” he said, looking deep into her eyes, “can you give me a hand with something when you finish in here?” She nodded, not trusting her voice. He brushed a kiss on her lips and left.

“Auntie Dede?”

She blinked and shook her head at Geoffrey Charles question. “Yes, dear?”

“You look funny,” he said, patting her cheek. Drake snorted with laughter.

“I’m fine, honey,” she said, glaring at her brother. “Let’s get you dressed.”

She walked into the master bedroom moments later and closed the door behind her. Ross stood next to the rumpled bed, packing the last of his toiletries into his saddlebags. He arched a brow in her direction, his eyes a gleaming gold. “You have everything?” she asked.

“Just about,” he responded before setting the leather bags down and walking over to where she stood. “Good morning, Mrs Poldark.” He clasped her to him and kissed her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to feast on her. Her head swam as she clutched his shoulders, the smooth wool of his waistcoat soft under her fingertips. She groaned, pressed herself tight against him as his hands stroked and clutched at her back and buttocks. He gripped her, pressing her hips against his, his arousal evident against her mound. She keened, shuddering with need as his mouth parted from hers, pressing her cheek and neck with nibbling kisses. He pulled the collar of her nightrail away from her neck and shoulders to fasten his teeth and lips against her skin. She gasped, then trembled as he drew in, sucking a small bruise to life on her shoulder. “I think that will be concealed by your shirtwaist, my dear. A little something to remember me by?”

She turned her passion-glazed eyes to look at the bite and grinned. “Oh, Ross.”

He closed his eyes. “I love it when you say my name just like that.” He brushed a kiss on her lips and released her with a smile. “Join me for breakfast, my dear?”

“Yes, Ross,” she nodded dreamily. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be down as soon as I can.” He left the room and she blew out another breath. “Judas!”

Fifteen minutes later, Demelza entered the dining room to see her three men plus Dwight tucking into a solid meal of flapjacks and bacon. She followed along the conversation they were having about the trip, and fielding questions from both boys about the things the men would see along the way. Demelza sipped her coffee and nibbled on her breakfast absently. She would miss Ross terribly. He’d become the person she spent most of her time with and they’d grown very close in such a short period of time. The explorations from the night before had done nothing, but cause her to yearn and desire more from him.

What was that saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, he hadn’t even left and she already knew it to be true of the man who was her husband. Was it possible to fall in love with someone, so quickly? To pine for them when they weren’t with you and to rejoice when you heard their voice or caught them looking at you? She didn’t know, and felt thoroughly at sea with her musings until she felt someone touch her hand. “Demelza?” Ross said, concern filling his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I am.” She blinked several times. “Just a bit distracted.”

He smiled tenderly and she felt her heart flip over in her chest. “Mrs Sherman wishes to speak with you after breakfast. I told her we needed to go, but that you would speak with her when you returned.”

“Oh, yes, thank you, Ross” she said and resumed her meal.

Twenty minutes later and they’d all gathered at the stables where Ross and Dwight kept their horses. Ross’s horse, Seamus, was a beautiful chestnut gelding with a white blaze down his nose and furry tufts of black hair on his heels. Dwight rode a horse unlike any she’d ever seen before, called an Appaloosa, with a white rump and bay spots. Both men looked magnificent astride, but she was of course drawn to the figure of her husband sitting high in the saddle. She took a moment to tuck a slip of paper in his saddlebag while he was chattering with Geoffrey Charles, who he’d held seated on his lap one last time.

“I’ll miss you, Uncle Ross,” she heard the boy whisper in his ear as he embraced him.

“I’ll miss you too, lad,” he said, kissing the boy’s pink cheek. “Take care of your Auntie Dede for me, will you?” The boy nodded and hugged him around his neck. Drake reached up to pick his cousin up and off Ross’s saddle. “Drake, I’m looking to you to keep an eye on everyone, all right, son?”

Drake nodded, swallowing. “Yes, sir, I will.”

Ross turned to face her, his eyes soft and warm. She handed him his hat and kerchief, placing her hands on his thigh while he put both on. She gave a laugh when he finished, for he looked about as American as a man could be at that moment. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, smiling as he leaned down to kiss her.

She stretched to reach him, their lips brushing lightly as his thumb stroked the spot where he’d marked her. “Travel safe, Ross.”

“Cinnamon girl,” he murmured for her hearing only, leaned back and, with a nod, spurred the horse forward. They cantered to the end of the street then, with a final wave, were gone.

Demelza held Geoffrey Charles’s hand as he skipped and chattered on about the morning’s excitement, barely hearing a word. She ached with the sadness she’d felt with her husband’s departure, and visualized the days he would be gone as stretching out before her with no end. Drake touched her shoulder and, reading her thoughts, took hold of the little boy’s hand in one hand, hers in the other and talked with him as they returned to the boarding house. She was beyond grateful that he was with her, and knew her well enough to know how much he would be needed in the days to come.

“Oh, Mrs Poldark!”

Mrs Sherman was waiting for them as soon as they walked through the door. Demelza shook herself from her gloomy thoughts and smiled at the landlady. “Yes, Ross told me you wished to speak with me?” she said brightly. “Drake, you and Geoffrey Charles head along upstairs. I will be up directly.”

“I know that you will be missing your husband during his absence,” the landlady said kindly, “so I thought to put together a little tea party so you could meet some of the local women here.” She placed her hand on Demelza’s. “I know you and your husband won’t be in St Joseph long, but I thought it might be nice for you to spend some time with female companionship before you set off on the trail.”

Demelza was touched. “That is very kind of you, Mrs Sherman, however you shouldn’t go to so much trouble.”

Nonsense, young lady!” she insisted. “I am usually so overwhelmed by uncouth men here it’s a joy to have the opportunity to do something refined for a change. And these ladies may be counted upon to answer any questions or concerns you may have, as a new bride.”

The word “refined” made Demelza grow uneasy. “When is the tea to take place?” she asked.

“Tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock,” Mrs Sherman said decisively. “That is around the time the English have their tea, is it not?”

Demelza nodded, feeling a little dizzy. A refined tea? Her brain quickly rifled through her wardrobe in hopes of coming up with something appropriate to wear and came up lacking until she latched upon a dress Mrs Thomas had given her before she left. She could make do with that, with a little work. _At least it will keep your mind off of Ross,_ she thought to herself.

“Yes, yes, it is,” she stammered. “How many ladies are we expecting?”

Mrs Sherman paused, and then began counting on her fingers. “Seven. There’s Mrs Lockette…Mrs Hanover…Mrs Jackson…Mrs Lords… myself, of course, you, my dear and a young woman who Mrs Lockette met the other day. She is traveling to the Washington Territory on the same wagon train as you: Miss Caroline Penvenen.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, then. I hope this makes up for the last cliffie I left you with! :-) Enjoy, because this will probably be it until I have free time later this week to begin to map out the next chapter. 
> 
> MASSIVE thanks to Rainpuddle, genie60, xxSparksxx and FollowAidT for their support and encouragement, and a special thanks to Rain for her beta. Also thanks to all of you who comment and leave kudos and tell your friends about this. It means the absolute world to me!
> 
> P.S. Cinnamon Girl... the nickname came to me without me thinking of the song by Neil Young. You can listen to it [here](https://youtu.be/aAdtUDaBfRA)


	10. Delays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

They rode hard for the first hour. Dwight was a horse length behind him, laughing as they galloped towards Independence. Ross hadn’t had a chance to ride since Demelza and Drake arrived and it felt marvellous to be charging along the sea of waving grasses on Seamus once again. Not only was it invigorating, it gave his muscles a chance to reacclimatise to what he knew would shortly become a major part of his existence. It was hard to believe they would be on their way to Washington in less than two weeks. Closer to a week and a half, truth be told. And, as much as he hated to admit it, he now wished they had more time to spend in St Joseph, for no other reason than he dearly wished to have the privacy he knew they would lose on the trail for just a little while longer.

His thoughts turned to the reason for that desire, Demelza. It didn’t seem possible that his world would have turned upside down in the space of three or four days. But it had, he now acknowledged, the moment he’d seen her at the back of that chuck wagon. It had only become readily apparent to him the more time he spent with her. She’d fit into his life almost seamlessly since their marriage, and it was clear that the affection he held for her was echoed by hers for him. And it had grown almost exponentially after last night.

The memories of those hours together were splendid, despite the moments of embarrassment he’d experienced after he’d succumbed to his need for release. While she’d been a little shy about it, she’d not reacted as he’d thought she would: with shock, fear or disgust. He’d been so proud of her for her willingness to push her limits, and had rejoiced as the barriers had begun to tumble down.

He wondered if he should have thought about the one moment where she’d had to back away. He’d been in such a randy haze that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind at that moment, but in hindsight he remembered a vague recollection she’d shared with him after their wedding that afternoon in the park. She’d told him Polgarry had wrenched her skirts up her legs just before her brother Sam’s arrival and rescue.

Ross nudged Seamus forward, faster. Would it be appropriate for him to suggest Demelza be the one to remove her nightrail when next they were abed? Would she be shocked at his suggestion, or would it leave her to feel too exposed? It was clear she enjoyed the openness he’d demonstrated with his own body, if the gleam he’d seen in her sultry eyes was any indication, or the eager touch of her hands against his skin, but he was less certain of how comfortable she was with her own.

He hoped he could come up with a way to help ease her past the last, lingering fears that kept her from being the truly sensual person he now knew her to be. Especially before they had to leave St Joseph. After all, she deserved to have comfort and privacy the first time they made love.

As the men neared a stream, Ross became aware of the growing discomfort he was experiencing as a result of his ponderings and drew on the reins to slow the horse down to a fast canter. They still had at least another fifty miles to go and it wouldn’t do either of them any good to wear out their horses so soon into their journey. Dwight quickly caught up to him and they slowed to a gentle walk, enjoying the sun on their backs and the fresh air in their lungs.

“Tahoma is feeling very feisty today,” Dwight said, patting his horse on his neck.

“Well, you _have_ been promising him he’d be spending a little time with the ladies when we arrive in Independence,” Ross said with a grin. He’d wondered why on earth his friend would want to trouble himself with a stallion on the journey, but Dwight had said the horse would be a welcomed investment in the long run and made arrangements to put the horse to stud for a couple of locals, to garner some extra coin for the journey.

Dwight had named the horse after the mountain that dominated the land they would both soon call home. Ross continued to scoff at his friend’s descriptions of the massive dormant volcano, unable to begin to picture it in his mind. They actually laid a bet on whether he was exaggerating or not: loser had to jump into one of the mountain’s glacial pools in the altogether. The glaciers were what made the Nisqually valley such an excellent place to settle. Lush forests, plenty of crisp, clean water to drink and for irrigation of some of the richest, black soil to be had on the west side of the Cascades. The relationship with the local native population, also called the Nisqually, was on reasonable terms thanks to the brisk and lucrative trade they conducted with the Hudson’s Bay Company. The territory’s eighth legislative session was to start in January, meaning there was hope for statehood to come within their lifetime.

Ross could picture his friend one day serving in politics, although Dwight would be the first one to mock the idea. But one day, after he’d had his fill of doctoring, Ross figured it would be a natural step for someone of Dwight’s stature within the community to make, when the time was right.

The horses settled their muzzles into the stream and began to drink. “You seem thoughtful, Ross,” Dwight observed, taking the opportunity to pull out two slim cigars and stick them between his teeth.

Ross glanced at him. “Just thinking of Nisqually, and the future,” he said, removing his hat and swiping his arm across his damp forehead before settling the black felt hat back on his head.

“Any thoughts on the trip itself?”

“A little.” The rasp of a match off Dwight’s thumbnail reached his ear and a whiff of freshly lit tobacco breezed past Ross’s nostrils. He turned to take one of the cigars from his friend. He drew in contemplatively on the cheroot and blew out a perfect smoke ring. “I’m going to pick up an extra tent while I’ve the chance,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Remind me when we get into town.”

“Whatever for?” Dwight said, confusion clear in his tone. “The big one you picked up in St Joseph will be more than adequate for the four of you.” He snorted. “Hell, _I_ could even fit in there with _all_ of you if I had to.”

It was Ross’s turn to snort. “Not bloody likely,” he said with a chuckle. “I just think it would be handy to have an extra, ‘tis all. Not the same size, mind… something a bit smal—”

“—Oh, I know why,” Dwight said brightly. “It’s so you and the missus can sneak away for a bit of privacy.” He swatted Ross on the thigh with his hat. Ross glowered, cheeks warming under his friend’s brow-waggling scrutiny. “I don’t blame you, Ross. She is a beauty,” his friend said. Ross looked up to meet Dwight’s blue-grey eyes. “You are a very lucky man.”

Ross nodded, picturing her smile in his mind. “You’ll get no argument from me.”

Dwight drew Tahoma’s head up from the stream and walked over to some nearby grasses to the horse to eat. “I’ve not had much of a chance to speak with you since the wedding,” he called out. “Are things between the two of you going well?”

Ross flashed a glance at Dwight, to see if he continued to tease, but saw that his friend had come to a stop, his face serious. “Why do you ask?” he said, frowning, turning Seamus around to join Tahoma at his meal.

“Well, you mentioned that she’d run into some trouble with a man back in Cornwall,” Dwight said softly. He dismounted and dug into his saddlebag for some bread and cheese. “Is she all right?”

“Yes, perfectly fine,” Ross said all too quickly, then sighed. He jumped down from Seamus’s saddle and met his friend’s far-too-perceptive gaze. “He tried to take advantage of her.”

“He didn’t—”

Ross shook his head, took the food Dwight offered and broke off a piece of cheese. “Made her scared, though. So we’re taking things slow between us.” He looked at the dull, orange end of the cheroot and knocked the coal dead on the heel of his boot.

Dwight pursed his lips. “Ross, you know you can count on me to help keep an eye on Geoffrey Charles while we on the trail.”

“I’m glad of that, Enys,” Ross said, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin. “We’ll be with him and Drake at night, of course.” 

“But you might need some time alone,” Dwight said. “Well, just let me know and I’ll check on them for you.”

Ross nodded his thanks and brushed his hands free of crumbs. He swung back up into his saddle and pulled Seamus’s head up from grazing. “Let’s get moving, eh?” Dwight chomped the cigar between his teeth, remounted and gave Tahoma the spurs.

Ross and Dwight arrived in Independence late in the afternoon. They stabled the horses, made certain both had extra oats for their hard work and walked slowly to the saloon. Ross’s legs and back were sore from the six-hour ride, but that paled in comparison his mood.

He’d made a terrible miscalculation. He’d told Demelza he would be back in four days at the most. Unfortunately, they’d not made it into town in time to conduct any business, so they’d lost one day at the very least. Second, due to the size of their remaining supply list and the slow pace they could push the livestock it would take them nearly five days to drive them back, which meant it would be Tuesday before he saw her again.

_Nearly a week away from her,_ he thought to himself. He gritted his teeth in frustration.

“Drink?” Dwight asked, as they climbed the stairs towards their room.

“Yes,” Ross said, shifting the saddlebag on his shoulder. “More than one.”

An hour later, Ross sat morosely at a table, eying the bottle of bourbon sitting near his elbow. He and Dwight had made a serious dent into the contents, and he figured they’d be ready for bottle number two within the next ten minutes. He raised the glass, turning it in his hand and admiring the deep amber liquor in the light from the candles above. He was about to down the contents when he noticed his friend over near the bar, animatedly talking to a tall raven-haired woman dressed in deep purple satin. Ross shook his head and tossed back the contents of his glass, arching a brow at Dwight as he sauntered back to their table, a fresh bottle of bourbon under his arm.

“What are you looking at?” Dwight asked him, a look of smug satisfaction on his miserably perfect countenance.

“You.” Ross pointed with his chin. “What’s her name?”

Dwight turned and looked in the direction he’d had indicated. “Ah.” He turned back and smiled. “Terese. She’s an acquaintance of mine.”

“Oh, really?” Ross laughed. He peered at his friend. “You know, I figure the Hudson’s Bay Company expects their young, up-and-coming physician to conduct himself in more respectable ways.” He thought of his pretty young wife, lying alone in their bed, groaned, and then pointed a finger in Dwight’s face, which had begun to grow fuzzy around the edges. “You talked me into getting married, Enys.”

“You had to, Ross. You have Geoffrey Charles to worry about.” Dwight said simply.

“Ever plan t-look into it?” Ross slurred slightly, ignoring the truth of his friend’s words. He blinked owlishly and covered his glass with his hand when Dwight would have refilled it. He was going to be miserable tomorrow.

Dwight waved dismissively. “Not for at least another five years. I guarantee it.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Ouch! Judas!” Demelza yelped as the needle jabbed into her finger. She muttered a curse under her breath, once again promising to add some extra thimbles to her supply list for the general store. She was just finishing up the final touches to the dress she’d prepared to wear for the ladies’ tea Mrs Sherman had planned.

The gown was the colour of a robin’s egg, blue with a touch of green. It had been among a number of gowns Mrs Thomas received the day before Demelza left for the west from a young widower whose wife had died following childbirth and was the last thing her employer had pressed into her hands when she and Drake were closing up their trunk. A year or two out of fashion for New York, Mrs Thomas had declared it perfect for her young protégée to take with her on her new adventure.

“I doubt I will have the opportunity to wear something as fine as this, Mrs Thomas,” Demelza had said.

“Every woman should have a fine gown like this one, my dear,” the older woman had said.

Demelza had considered wearing it for her wedding, but discovered it required more alterations than she’d originally thought to make it fit her slender frame and was faced with the possibility of foregoing it once again, however, Mrs Sherman had fallen ill the evening before the tea which forced a postponement for several days.

Five days, in fact. One longer than Ross had said it would take for them to return from Independence and one week – exactly – since they’d been married. She blamed the repeated assaults upon which her needle was subjecting her fingers to the worry that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep at bay. What on earth could have happened to them? Were they hurt? Or had a wheel broken? She’d become so agitated she’d actually snapped at Geoffrey Charles and Drake for doing nothing more than boys being boys not more than an hour ago. Guilt flooded her at the recollection of her nephew’s clear blue eyes filling with fat tears at the sound of her raised voice.

“I hate you!” he’d wailed, flinging himself onto his cot. “Where is Uncle Ross? I want Uncle Ross!”

“I’m sorry, darling,” she’d said, her throat tightening as she reached for the boy to clutch him to her chest. “I miss your uncle, too. So much!” She’d lost her battle with the tears she’d kept welled up inside and wept right along side of him. They’d both felt a little better after their cry, and she’d managed to coax a smile and kiss of forgiveness with a little help from a sweet from her purse.

Peppermint, of course, Demelza thought dolefully, his uncle’s favourite. She’d spent the last several nights, tossing and turning alone in bed wondering how she’d reached the point where sleep had become elusive without Ross by her side. Which was telling, of course. After all she’d spent most of her life sleeping alone. Now, in the space of two nights, she’d grown to miss the sound of his breathing, the warmth of his body and the touch of his hands. But when she _was_ able to slip into the bounds of sleep, he’d been there, waiting for her. His hands, his breath, his mouth, wrapping her in a sea of desire and leaving her quivering with want.

Last night, the dream was so vivid she’d woken to discover she’d kicked herself free of the bedclothes. Her hands caressed her breasts and moved down, over her twitching abdomen, drawing her nightrail up her legs and around her hips until her mound lay exposed to the night air. Curious fingers slipped through the russet curls until they slid into the slick folds of her sex. She’d shuddered, groaning against her pillow at the texture and sensitivity of her flesh when her thumb brushed against a swollen nub of nerves at the top of her folds and she convulsed, waves of pleasure coursing through her and leaving her trembling, aching for more.

_So,_ that _was it,_ she thought to herself once she’d been able to do so again. Glorious, terrifying, affirming. And it had been the image of the whisky-golden eyed man who was her husband, his back arched and mouth open in ecstasy as he’d reached his own peak that she had held in her thoughts as she’d flown.

Her body had felt over sensitized for much of the next day. Memories of what she’d experienced would flit through her mind at random times. The silk taffeta felt sleek under Demelza’s fingers, the gentle hiss of it almost tickling her ears as she shifted it across her lap. It made her squeeze her knees together more than once as she’d finished sewing the dress. Another countless moments lost in daydreams, and she finally shook her head and focused on the last few stitches.

She bit off the thread and put the needle into her sewing kit. Sucking her finger one more time, she stood and shook the gown out in front of her, smiling for the first time in what felt like days. And just in time, she realized as she glanced at the clock on the mantle. She laid the dress on the bed and hastily removed her shirtwaist, skirt and petticoat, folding them carefully for wearing later. It was only then that she realized the shift she wore was unsuitable for the neckline of the gown. She raced over to the chest of drawers, looking through her meagre collection of underthings to find something that would work. A set of stays and pantaloons would have to do.

She tossed them onto the bed, grabbed a clean pair of stockings and garters and whipped her shift over her head. She caught her reflection out of the corner of her eye and stopped. Nude, the light from afternoon sun created a halo around her silhouetted form. She shifted her head, blocking the direct light of the sun’s rays to bring her figure into sharp relief in her reflection. She touched the tip of her finger to the dusty-rose nipple that peaked in the cool air coming in through the open window. Colour spread from the crest of her breasts, up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks. Would she ever be as comfortable being naked before her husband? She’d never had the opportunity to do so at home, of course. It would have been completely indecent in a house full of boys. It was apparent Ross was very comfortable with his nudity and – she thought, the blush deepening – it was clear he’d appreciated what he’d seen of her thus far. The image of his mouth suckling at her breast made her blow a slow breath from her lungs.

But, if they were alone, just to two of them, would there be any harm? She mulled this thought over in her mind as she slipped on her stockings and tied the garters. The pantaloons were simple, but serviceable. She would have to wear her regular petticoat and hoped it would do. She managed to get herself into the stays – barely – and wished she had some help to get the laces a bit tighter, but managed as best she could. Petticoat next and, finally, the gown.

She was forced to ask Drake to run down to get Mrs Sherman to help her with the hooks and eyes in the back, but once that was complete both women smiled into the looking glass. Better than she’d hoped, Demelza thought to herself.

“Now, don’t you look beautiful, Mrs Poldark!” Mrs Sherman squeaked, her voice still a little hoarse from her recent illness. She gave Demelza’s shoulders a comforting squeeze. “Now, don’t you fret over that man of yours, he’ll be back here very soon, I just know it.”

“I’ll try not to,” Demelza said, willing herself to believe the other woman’s words true.

 

And, for a time, she didn’t fret. The women Mrs Sherman had gathered were a lovely group to converse with, and despite her earlier fears of not being a lady enough for them, soon found herself engaging in discussions about the normal, everyday life of a pioneer’s wife. Mrs Lockette, who was married to the local apothecary, encouraged her to come to the shop in the morning to put together a travel kit of salves, herbs, and other items that could come in handy for illnesses and injuries. She’d spoken with Mrs Jackson, the local reverend’s wife, about gardening and promised to visit her at the church to view the tulips she’d had delivered from Scandinavia! Mrs Sherman handed her several hand printed receipts for meals to include with her collection (making particular note of the ones Ross had commented upon during his stay) and Mrs Lords suggested she bring Geoffrey Charles by to see some of the newly foaled horses and baby goats.

It was during a break in the conversation between she and Mrs Lords that Demelza was able to engage in discussion with the woman who had been seated to her right. Caroline Penvenen, recently from London, was tall and blonde, with delicate features and clear, grey eyes. She was beautifully gowned in the latest fashion, Demelza noticed, more elegantly than any of the rest of the assembly. She’d felt an odd sense of insecurity upon their first meeting, but had begun to warm to her effervescence and wit.

“I understand you are travelling west in the same wagon train as we are, Miss Penvenen,” Demelza said, pouring more tea into Caroline’s cup.

“Yes, my uncle Ray and I are headed to Olympia, the new territory seat,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I am affianced to a gentleman by the name of Unwin Trevaunance, who is one of the executives with the Hudson’s Bay Trading Company.”

“Congratulations,” Demelza said with a smile. “Have the two of you known one another long?”

“Not long, but my uncle has nothing but the best to say about his character.” She took a bite of the lemon cake and closed her eyes. “This is simply divine. I must ask Mrs Sherman for the receipt.”

“Actually, it is one of my own,” Demelza said, feeling her cheeks warm. “Poor Mrs Sherman was still out of sorts so I volunteered to help in the kitchen during her convalescence.”

Caroline blinked. “Do you mean to say you were responsible for all of the lovely delights we have been enjoying?” Demelza’s blush grew warmer under Caroline’s scrutiny. “Wait a moment.” She set her teacup and saucer down and cocked her head to one side. “You were on the wagon train from New York, were you not? Engaged to assist with meals?” She clapped her hands together. “Of course! I hardly recognized you!”

Demelza’s blush of pleasure had turned into one of embarrassment and temper as recognition dawned upon Caroline. “Yes, that is correct.” She set down her own teacup and met the blonde woman’s laughing gaze. “My brother and I travelled out from New York to join my intended and required additional funds for our passage.” She looked at Caroline through her lashes. “I hope the service was sufficient to your expectations.”

“Oh.” Caroline’s fine brow furrowed. “Oh, my dear, I am so sorry for my tone,” she said, reaching out to touch Demelza’s hand. “I did not mean to offend. On the contrary, seldom have I ever had food so well prepared, particularly in conditions such as the ones we endured. You are to be commended!”

Demelza nodded, accepting both apology and compliment with a shy smile. “Thank you, Miss Penvenen.”

“Please, call me Caroline,” she insisted.

The two young women talked more of their lives before they travelled west. Demelza was happy to learn Caroline’s family had deep ties to Cornwall, and they spent time talking about the familiar hills and moors of their common home, but when her new friend asked why she’d decided to leave a place she so clearly loved, Demelza decided to share the truth. They walked around the garden, deepening their friendship as first one hour, then a second passed by. Demelza had never had a woman friend her own age before and was pleased to have found a kindred spirit in the young lady from London. The prospects of finding a companion in someone as refined and genteel as Caroline Penvenen gave her the first moments of contentment since Ross had left nearly a week before.

It was nearing suppertime when Caroline slipped the beautiful wool shawl she’d brought with her over her shoulders. “My dear Demelza, you must come to visit with us soon, promise me?” she said, giving her hands a squeeze.

“I would love to, Caroline,” Demelza said. “And I hope to introduce you to my husband as soon as he returns from Independence.” Her brow furrowed. “Whenever that is.”

The door to the boarding house opened and Demelza looked over Caroline’s shoulder. Her eyes widened. “Ross! Oh, _Ross_!”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Demelza,” he rasped.

He’d stared at the elegantly gowned, Titian-haired beauty in front of him, and had not recognized her for a split second, until his name passed her lips. A jolt had raced through him, nearly closing his throat with emotion. She was in his arms in seconds, and he breathed in the floral scent of her hair and shuddered when she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. She tasted of creamy tea and lemon cake and he tightened his hold of her, feeling her body pressed tight to his own. Her arms slipped around his back, hands running over his shoulder blades. He could feel the edge of her nails through his shirt and he gasped, his loins tightening in response. His hand slid down, low on her back, to pull her closer. He heard her moan against his mouth and he growled in response, losing himself in their reunion embrace.

Until a discrete cough sounded over her shoulder. Ross opened passion-heavy eyes and saw Mrs Sherman glaring at him. He immediate drew back from Demelza’s grip.

“Wha?’ she breathed, dazed and smiling up into his eyes, then turned her head. “Oh! Oh, Judas.” Ross looked down at her, her face blazing with colour, and stifled a laugh at her epithet. “Mrs Sherman, Caroline, I’m sorry!”

“Welcome back, Mr Poldark,” Mrs Sherman said pithily. “You’ve had your family quite concerned, young man. We were going to send out a search party for you and Mr Enys if you hadn’t shown up by the morning. And look at the state of you!”

He glanced in the looking glass near the door and groaned. He knew it was bad, but not that bad. He looked about as disreputable as a man could be, covered with road dust from head to foot, grizzled with almost a week’s worth of beard. He sniffed. And sweat. And he realized his grubby, filthy hands were all over his wife’s sophisticated blue gown.

He set himself away from Demelza. “I am sorry, my dear, I hope I haven’t caused any permanent damage,” he said, and felt the corner of his mouth twitch with the humour of the situation.

“Not at all,” she said excitedly, slapping at her skirts and watching the dust fly. She then turned to the tall, blonde woman who stood next to Mrs Sherman, clearly amused by the spectacle they’d made. “Ross, I want to introduce to Caroline Penvenen. She will be travelling with our wagon train to Washington!”

Ross nodded. “Miss Penvenen, it is a pleasure to meet you, although I would prefer if it were under more…well…

“Oh, la!” she laughed. “Please call me Caroline. Demelza’s told me so much about you, and I know she’s eager to have you back.” She gave him a knowing smile and Ross wondered just how close she and his wife had become during their short acquaintance. “Please come and visit with us soon.”

“It will be our pleasure, Caroline,” Ross said with a nod, making note to ask Demelza to tell him more about her.

Tomorrow. Or the next day.

He returned his gaze to his wife’s pretty profile and found himself staring at her shoulder. The spot where he’d marked her had faded, so that one would have to know it was there, and why. He raised his hand and rubbed his thumb along it. Demelza flicked a glance at him, the corner of her mouth tilting up into a smile, which he felt all the way to his groin.

Demelza raised her brow at him then turned to wave gaily as Mrs Sherman escorted his wife’s new friend to the door, and then turned to beam up at him. “I’ve been so worried!” she said, placing her hands on his chest.

“I know, I am sorry, and I’ll explain what happened,” he said softly, “but first I need to get cleaned up.” He raised her left hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Give me thirty minutes and meet me for supper?”

“Not another minute more, Ross,” she said, rising on tiptoe to kiss him again.

He smiled. A promise he would definitely keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and commented! They mean so much, and I promise to respond to every comment, regardless of how short or long! They really inspire me. And thanks to Rain, Sparks, Jackie and Genie for their continued support!
> 
> Rainpuddle, thank you for the beta!
> 
> We're getting very close...be patient with me for just a little while longer!


	11. Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

“Uncle Ross!”

“Geoffrey Charles!” Ross exclaimed as he turned from the dresser to see his nephew tear into the room. The boy launched himself into his uncle’s waiting arms. Ross breathed in the familiar scent of him and closed his eyes. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the devilish little lad until he’d neared the top of the stairs and heard his laughter through the nursery door. “Oh, I missed you, my boy,” he murmured softly, carrying him over to the chair by the fire and settling him in his lap.

“I missed you too, Uncle Ross,” Geoffrey Charles chirped happily, giving Ross a familiar pat on his cheek before scrubbing his palm against the week’s worth of whiskers he found there. “Your face feels like a brush!” Ross laughed and leaned in, scruffing his cheek against the boy’s and making him giggle hysterically. “And-and you stink!”

Ross raised his head and laughed. “I’ve been with a herd of oxen, cows, and your uncle Doctor Dwight for five days, lad. And I’m up here to get some clean clothes so I can go to the bathhouse and take care of that.” He set the boy down and walked back over to the dresser.

“Auntie Dede makes me take a bath every day,” Geoffrey Charles groused, cambering onto the bed.

“She’s right to do so,” Ross counseled, selecting his undergarments with care. It wouldn’t do to wear a sock with a hole in it tonight.

“You didn’t, before she came here,” the boy observed.

Clever little bloke. He stopped and knelt by the bed. “There will be many things that she will do that I haven’t thought to do, Geoffrey Charles.” He paused, wondering how best to put this. “You remember I told you your auntie would take care of you as you grow up?” The boy nodded as Ross gathered his favourite waistcoat from the wardrobe and added it to his pile of clothes. “She’s been telling you stories, and making sure you clean your teeth and kisses your scrapes when you fall, yes? Who does that remind you of?”

Geoffrey Charles frowned. “Mama used to do all those things for me. But she’s not my mama.”

“No, my lad, she’s not your mama.” He gently soothed the boy’s brow with his thumb. “She’s not your mama and no one could replace your mama. But she will think about all of the things a mama does for her child, things a papa might not think of. And I’ll keep all those things papas think of in my mind, like fishing and hunting…” He leaned in conspiratorially. “And getting dirty.” The lad giggled. “So, with both of us, we will think of everything. Is that all right with you?”

He nodded. “I like Auntie Dede very much.”

Ross smiled. “She likes you, too, my lad.” He stood and ruffled the blond hair. “Now, I have to go. I can’t keep your auntie waiting. I’ll see you at supper in just a little while, all right?”

Just then, Demelza came into the room, all smiles. “Twenty minutes, Ross.”

He laughed. “Yes ma’am.” He gave her a quick kiss and laughed again when she crinkled her nose. “I’m going, I’m going.” He scooped up his clothes and shaving kit and headed out the door.

Ross walked through the front door of the boarding house without a minute to spare, feeling like a new man. He hadn’t realized how rank he’d been until he’d bundled his clothes in a bag to leave for the laundry. He figured his wife must have truly missed him if she’d been willing to cling to him like a limpet while he was wearing those clothes.

As he’d rid himself of the grime, Ross wondered if he might be expecting too much from tonight. Her unrestrained response to his arrival revealed no fear or hesitation on her part. However, they still had several obstacles to overcome before he thought they would be anywhere near the point of consummating their marriage. He was simply grateful to be back with his family, and hoped this would be the last extended absence he would have to have for a very long time.

He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, thinking it may have got a bit too long to be manageable, and turned just in time to see Demelza coming down the stairs, Drake chattering away on one side, and holding Geoffrey Charles’s hand on her other side. She laughed at something Drake said before turning her gaze towards the door where Ross stood. The smile that spread across her face eased some of the nerves he hadn’t realized had been tensing up his spine. She still wore the beautiful blue-green gown he’d seen her in less than an hour ago when she’d wrapped her arms around him and kissed him in front of God and country. Her hair was dressed with a pretty ribbon the same colour of the dress, held up and away from her neck. A few tendrils of copper spiralled temptingly along her nape and down her back. The cut of the gown emphasized the graceful arch of her neck and shoulders, the narrowness of her waist. The full sleeves made the bones of her wrists look as delicate as a hummingbird’s wing. The soft hiss it made as she moved rustled against the carpet was like a caress. It made her seem like a beautiful stranger, someone he would have met at the assembly hall in Truro.

He cocked his head and wondered, for a moment, what he would have said to her, surrounded by the candlelight and music. Would he have asked her to dance? Oh, without a second thought, despite his rather mediocre accomplishment at the task. Would he have pursued her, asked to call upon her? Absolutely. There was something so naturally alluring about Demelza he simply had to surround himself with, to infuse into his life, like water.

He paused, an edge of unease forming in his mind. These were some fairly powerful thoughts for a man to have about his wife, to be sure, but particularly true for a man who’d only met the woman inspiring these thoughts less than two weeks before.

He was still turning these thoughts over in his mind when she reached the bottom step and slipped her hand in the crook of his arm. “You look very handsome tonight, Mr Poldark,” she murmured. He’d worn a blue-grey waistcoat, one she’d made a point of complimenting as he’d hung up his garments in their wardrobe. Her eyes lingered on the patch of skin that lay exposed at the neck of his white collarless shirt. He stirred.

“As do you, cinnamon girl,” he said softly. She blushed and giggled, and the stranger was gone, replaced by his Demelza.

Supper was spent listening to the adventures the boys had during his absence, including one episode where they’d both gone wading in a pond and wound up covered to the knees with leeches. Demelza’s recounting of the tale was particularly entertaining, for it became clear that while she did not fancy creepy, crawling beasts, she wasn’t one to harm them when they were only doing their jobs. Drake gave Ross an update on their herd of oxen, including one who was fairly temperamental and would require some extra attention when hitching to the wagon. Both boys wanted to go see the new animals he and Dwight had brought from Independence immediately, but were told they would have to wait until the morning. This resulted in pouting from Geoffrey Charles and a grumble or two from Drake until Demelza told both of them there would be no dessert if they couldn’t manage their disappointment. All throughout the meal, Ross would glance at his wife and find her gaze fixed on his, as if she were as eager for supper to end as he was.

It was still early when they’d finished their dessert – more of Demelza’s lemon cake – so the Poldark-Carne family went for a long stroll by the river, where he watched her pick wildflowers, gently scold Geoffrey Charles for getting too close to the edge, and smile up into his eyes.

They turned back towards the boarding house as the moon rose over the river. Drake was carrying Geoffrey Charles, who had grown tired of walking. “It felt good to return to St Joseph, my dear,” he murmured, plucking one of the daisies she held, snapping the stem in half and tucking it behind her ear. “I missed you.”

“Oh, I missed you too, Ross,” she replied. She squeezed his arm, her breast nudging the back of it with each step. “But I’ve noticed something, in your walk. Are you experiencing any discomfort?”

He looked down at her in surprise and slowed their pace. “We rode pretty hard, both there and back, so I’m a little sore.” He covered the hand she had tucked through his arm with his own. “I didn’t know it was that noticeable.”

“It’s more of a slight hitch in your step that I noticed, nothing more,” she clarified, reassuringly. They walked in silence for a while before she squeezed his arm again. “I could…”

He stopped, peering down at her. “You could what, Demelza?”

She raised shy eyes to his. “I was going to offer to rub your legs when we return to our room. Perhaps see if I could ask Mrs Sherman for some bourbon for you?”

His brain had started buzzing at her suggestion to massage his legs, but he forced himself to respond to her without sounding like a slathering idiot. “No bourbon, my dear, I’m afraid I went a little overboard with the spirit our first night in town,” he admitted hoarsely.

She grinned. “Oh, did you now, Mr Poldark?”

He laughed then stopped to take hold of her shoulders, his thumbs brushing on the arch of her collarbones. “The only thing I wish to be intoxicated with tonight is you, Demelza,” he murmured, and then kissed her. She shivered, sliding her arms around his waist as they embraced, her lips parting at the urging of his own, their tongues lightly touching and tasting the wine they’d shared with their supper.

“Ross,” she whispered against his mouth.

“Let’s go home, my dear,” he murmured against the delicate shell of her ear, breathing in the hint of vanilla she’d dotted behind it. He brushed one last kiss against her lips before resuming their walk towards the boarding house, their pace a little quicker than before. They caught up with Drake in moments, and Ross shifted Geoffrey Charles to his shoulder as they climbed the last few steps to the house. Demelza stopped in the kitchen while Ross continued up with the boys. By the time she’d come into their bedchamber, he’d got Drake and Geoffrey Charles settled in for the night.

He turned to see Demelza slip through the open door, a bottle of port and two glasses in her hand. He arched a brow and grinned. “Are you trying to get me drunk, my dear?”

She blushed. “I thought it might be nice for us to have a little something before…bed,” she offered with a casualness that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Ross frowned, setting his pocket watch on the top of the dresser and closing the door. “Demelza, is something the matter?”

“N-No, Ross,” she stammered, putting the port and glasses down on the small table near the hearth. “I suppose I am a little nervous.”

“Whatever for?” he asked. He crossed the room to gently place his hands on her shoulders.

“Well, I was so…forward when I greeted you earlier,” she said, nibbling on her lip.

“Did you see me complaining?” he blurted out, incredulous. “Although I must admit I don’t know how you could have clung to the likes of me after five days worth of grime and God knows what else covering every inch of me.”

She rolled her eyes and giggled. “Oh, now, Ross, it wasn’t the least bit ladylike.”

“Like I said, my girl, did you see me complain?” He cupped her cheek. “Demelza, part of what draws me to you is your curiosity, your willingness to be yourself.” He stepped closer, sliding his arms around her narrow waist. The heat of her body through the back of her dress warred with the coolness of the silk against his palms. He found the contrast strangely erotic. “Earthy, open, and sensual.”

She quirked her brow and looked at him through thick, russet lashes. “Sensual, is it?” she coaxed, toying with the silver buttons of his waistcoat. “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of a well-borne lady ever being referred to a sensual.”

“You aspire to be more like a well-borne lady?”

She nodded shyly. “Mrs Thomas, my former employer in New York, came from a fairly well-to-do family in Ireland. When she and her husband arrived in America, they found it difficult to live in the same standards as they’d had back home.” Ross nodded. The plight of the Irish in America was one that rankled and offended him a great deal. “But despite that, she always carried herself with grace and refinement. Caroline – Miss Penvenen – is so elegant and well mannered. Now, I know I could never be thought of as delicate. I am and always will be a coal miner’s daughter from Illogan. But I should like to learn from her, so that I might do the same for you. Care for your home and attend to your guests with refinement.”

“I see.” He paused a moment, then drew her over to the chairs near the fire. “Have a seat, my dear, while I pour,” he encouraged. He opened the bottle and poured first one, then another glass of the fine, ruby red wine into the cut crystal goblets. “You remember my telling you of Elizabeth, Francis’s wife?” He handed her the wine glass and sat down. “How the two of us were once rivals for her attentions?”

“Yes, Ross,” she confirmed. “You said you were too rebellious for her?”

“Rebellious, yes,” he mused, taking a taste of the wine and found it quite good. “That’s one way of putting it.” He looked at his wife. “I was much more of a temperamental lad in those days, reckless and a bit of a troublemaker. But I was – and am – a man of strong passions, be it taking chances with the local excise men, or a competitive card game, a fast gallop across the land or when it comes to what I want from a woman.” He paused. “Elizabeth was a beautiful woman. Geoffrey Charles gets his eyes from her.” He smiled as a look of warm, maternal recognition crossed Demelza’s face. “She was very refined and genteel. Delicate, and fragile, like porcelain, if you’ll pardon the metaphor.”

She sipped her wine. “And what you want is someone who is—”

“—Like earthenware. Strong. Arresting in its beauty.” He reached over to stroke her jawline with his index finger. “So, I need someone who is earthy,” he mused, reaching over to take her glass out of her hand and stood to place both on the mantle. “Open.” He offered her his hand, and he was relieved when she placed hers in his palm. “Sensual.” He pulled her up from her seat and into his arms, kissing her softly. “Now I understand you may wish to be more like the ladies you had tea with today, and I’ll not stop you from learning from Miss Penvenen if that is what you wish to do. But as far as I am concerned?” Another kiss, more urgent and insistent as the last. “You can greet me that way any time you wish.” He hadn’t noticed his voice lowering, or the scent of her perfume becoming more pronounced, but as he’d spoken, he’d begun to lose himself in her crystal-blue green eyes. “I missed you, Demelza. More than I’d thought possible.”

She rose on tiptoe and drew his head down to hers, her lips and tongue sweeping all concerns from his head. His hands slid low to her hips, pulling her tight against him. His hips rocked against hers involuntarily and he felt her press tighter in response and groaned against her tongue. He shifted from her mouth to run kisses along her throat. “Ross, I missed you. And I was so afraid when you hadn’t come home by Sunday.”

“I am sorry, my dear,” he murmured against her fragrant skin, his tongue and teeth streaking along to taste and sample the soft flesh of her neck. She whimpered a little and he drew back. “Too much?”

“No, sweet mercies, no,” she sighed, biting her bottom lip and arching her neck to allow him better access.

“Remind me to tell you what that does to me when we have a chance,” he croaked before capturing her mouth with his once more.

They stood in the centre of their room, wrapped in one another’s arms until both were dizzy with it. Ross opened his eyes to find hers, darkened to the colour of jade, lips swollen from his attentions. He forced himself to return to a place of sanity, if for no other reason than to assure himself he wasn’t making the greatest mistake of his life in rushing her into something she wasn’t prepared for. “Demelza,” he breathed, “I want to make love to you, my dear, but I don’t want to do anything to harm you or frighten you. But you must know, the need I feel for you has trebled since last we shared our bed.”

“Oh, Ross, I want you, too” she purred throatily. “I-I’m sorry, I really should have spoken before we started this.” He felt the wild hopes he’d held the past several days slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. She brushed a kiss across his lips and untangled her fingers from his hair. “I have something to share with you, Ross.” She stepped from his embrace and took his hand. “Can we sit for a moment?”

Sit? His cock was so hard the thought of sitting nearly made him weep. Instead he stepped back from her, took several deep breaths and nodded. She smiled and led him by the hand to the bed. He sat gingerly on the edge, wincing with discomfort. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, but when he opened his eyes, it was clear she had. “I’m sorry, my dear.”

“Please, don’t apologize, Ross. If anyone should apologize, it should be me.” She looked at her hands. “I hate to see you in distress, especially if I’m the cause of it.”

He frowned, moved closer and picked up her hand. “You are not the cause of this, Demelza. I consider the desire we have for one another to be an unanticipated gift to our unconventional marriage.” He kissed the inside of her wrist. She blushed prettily and raised sparkling eyes to his. “Now, what did you wish to discuss?”

“While you were away, I had a lot of time to think about us,” she murmured, nervously twisting her fingers in her lap.

“As did I.” Time to think, to dream, to lie awake in the room above the saloon, the bed on Dwight’s side of the room conspicuously empty, easing the desire he had for her within the palm of his own hand.

She nodded. “And I had time to realize that in the space of only two nights together, I’d grown to miss you breathing, lying next to me. It was lonely, without you,” she observed before pausing. He warmed; heartened to know they’d shared the same feelings, despite the miles between them. She reached to touch his hand and he stilled. “Last night, you came to me in my dreams.”

He looked up at her. _What was that she’d said?_ he asked himself. “Y-Your dreams?” he asked, turning her hand over to link their fingers.

“Yes, Ross,” she continued, sitting closer, the full skirt of her pretty dress rustling seductively against the comforter. She traced the veins on the back of his hand with her index finger, her touch seemingly destined to target the need thundering through him. “I was watching you, as I did the other night, when we were together. And…and you were…”

“Yes?” he asked, his voice a near whisper.

“And I found myself…” Her cheeks bloomed red. “It was as if you were there, with me, and I wanted…needed…and my hands…”

“Oh God.” A jolt of near-agonizing lust speared through him as he realized what she was trying to say. He surged to his feet, startling her enough to squeak as he’d noticed she did when she was surprised, and he paced the room. Images of her, lying naked in their bed, back arched with her pleasure, her hands, on her breasts and between her legs, slick with her arousal raced through his mind with lightning speed. He stood in front of the fire, pressed his palm against his groin before turning to face her. “Demelza, you…”

“I flew,” she beamed. She rushed over to where he stood and wrapped her arms around his waist. His own cradled her against him, joy for her, for them both, making it hard for him to breathe. “Ross, I never knew… didn’t know I could ever feel so much. And when it was over, all I could think of was wanting to be back in your arms, in our bed with you.”

“You’re certain?” He looked down at her, more thankful than he’d ever been in his life, and cupped her soft cheeks in his hands.

“Yes, dearest Ross,” she assured him, pressing kisses against his throat and along the open collar of his shirt.

He groaned. “Oh, my sweet girl.”

“I don’t know if there won’t be something that frightens me or not.” Her voice quavered with emotion, with fear, with need, he wasn’t certain which. “If it should, we may need to stop for a moment, or maybe until another night.” She kissed him. “But now that I know what might be possible, I want to know it with you as my husband, and for you to know it with me as your wife.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza’s heart hammered in her throat as she finished. The look of shock on Ross’s face when she told him of her experience had initially caused her to fear he’d not approve of what happened, but she’d kept what he’d said about their time together as man and wife: _“Whatever happens between us here, and in our bed, should be given freely, shared and welcomed by both of us. There should never be any guilt, shame or obligation in what we do. For either of us.”_ And it was true, what had happened occurred while he was away from her, but it had involved him, been inspired by him, and everything they’d done together. Surely something as honest as what had happened wouldn’t offend. Right?

And then he embraced her, kissed her, showered her with approval and praise. She melted into his arms, delighting in the feel of his body pressed tight against her.

“We will go at your pace, my dear, just as before,” he whispered in her ear. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t, Ross,” she urged. “I promise, I will let you know. Be patient with me?”

“Always,” he agreed, kissing her deeply. “Always.”

Demelza smiled against his lips. “Help me with the hooks?” she asked. He nodded, swallowing hard. She turned in his arms to present her back to him.

“Have I ever told you how lovely your shoulders are?” She looked up at the sound of his voice, meeting his gaze in the vanity mirror. His fingers ran along the sides of her neck and down along her shoulders, raising gooseflesh in their wake. She shook her head. “Soft, so pale.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss on her neck. “You’ve a mole, right here.” He kissed a spot to the right of her nape, caressed it with his tongue. “It drives me to distraction.” He laughed dryly, flicking a quick glance in the mirror. His eyes were smouldering, leaving her a little breathless with their intensity. He raised his fingers to the collar of the dress and released the first hook, pressing a kiss against the newly exposed skin. His touch was self-assured and gentle, sending shivers of sensation through her body and feeding the pulse that beat low in her groin. He moved to the second hook, repeating the gesture, again and again, until he was able to slip his hand along her corseted ribs.

He stepped closer, his hand sliding around to stroke her stomach, his fingers tracing the boning of the undergarment. “Do you need assistance with your stays, Demelza?”

“I-If you could loosen the ties,” she whispered, hoarsely. She held the front of the dress to her chest as he gently tugged at the laces. She’d had assistance with her stays in the past, either from her brother Drake or Mrs Thomas, but there was a distinct difference between those instances and what was happening now; the hands of her lover, serving her in the effort of preparing herself for his touch. His breath teased the curling strands of hair at her nape and along her neck, making her limbs feel heavy and her head light. The laces slipped, slowly easing the tension enough for her to draw a deep, shuddering breath. “And, if you could, untie the ribbon for my petticoat,” she added, glancing at him over her shoulder. He nodded, lowering his eyes to find the tie before meeting her gaze as one hand pulled the bow free. She turned to face him, his body inches from hers, and let the dress and petticoats fall to billow around her feet.

She stood before him in only her stays, pantaloons and stockings. The loosened stays had slipped down her torso, leaving her breasts nearly exposed to her nipples. “Demelza,” he breathed. His eyelids twitched in the faintest of blinks as he stared, mesmerized. “You are so beautiful.”

He reached for her, but she held up her hand to stop him. “I figure if I’m the one removing the rest of my clothes I won’t freeze up, as I did the other night.” He nodded, disappointment and understanding clear in his eyes. She smiled nervously, raising her hands to the hooks at the front of her corset and, taking a calming breath, released the garment to join the rest on the floor.

Her nipples hardened, tightened under his scrutiny. He exhaled, his breathing louder to her hearing, stirring her. “I simply must touch you.” The deep baritone of his voice was like the darkest molasses, rich and deep, overwhelming her senses. His hands came up to cup and caress her breasts, his palms roughened in texture but gentle in touch. “So, so beautiful, Demelza.” His thumbs grazed her nipples and she moaned, leaning against his chest. “Please, please…my waistcoat, please.” She noticed he was trembling and her fingers flew over the pretty, silver buttons, spreading the fabric back and away from his body. He wore braces, a paisley brown that she drew off his shoulders. He shrugged once and they slid down his arms to loop at his hips. She reached for the wooden buttons of his shirt, her eyes following their progress and revealing the thick black hair covering his chest. He stepped back to pull the tails of the shirt from his trousers and stripped it from his body in quick, efficient movements.

She only had a moment before he reached for her. She whimpered as her nipples brushed against his chest and clasped him around the waist. “Ross, you feel so good and warm against me,” she sighed. She shivered with pleasure as his hands roamed over her back, tracing the marks the boning had left behind. He kissed her, intensely, groaning against her mouth as their tongues tangled and caressed one another. He leaned back, stroking her breast with the backs of his fingers. She massaged his shoulders and chest muscles, her thumbs brushing the pinkish brown nipples, watching them tighten under her caress.

She stepped out of his embrace and, closing her eyes, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her pantaloons and pushed them down off her hips.

“Sweet Christ,” Ross rasped. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his gaze near black. He reached out a hand to touch her, stopping part of the way. “You are exquisite, cinnamon girl.”

“Ross,” she cried, and dashed into his arms. He kissed her, hands shifting low to her hips, squeezing the firm flesh of her buttocks. She gasped and he froze.

“Too much?” he whispered.

“N-No,” she stammered, dizzy with desire, “I liked it.” He kissed her, squeezing her tight against him. She felt the rigid length of him against her mound and it sent a wave of need racing through her.

“Demelza,” he rasped, his hips moving against hers. “May we get into bed? Please?”

She swallowed, a whisper of anxiety edging around her. “Y-Yes, Ross.” He picked her up and carried her to the bed and laid her on the comforter. She scrambled under the covers, drawing the sheet up to her armpits. She smiled shyly as he walked around to the other side of the bed. He sat, pulling off his boots and socks, muttering curses when the left one proved to be more difficult. She giggled, earning her a playful glare from over his shoulder. He finally pulled the boot free and rose to his feet, shucking his trousers and drawers down in one motion.

Powerful. Muscular. Olive gold skin she ached to touch, all within her reach, now and for the rest of her life. She slid over in the bed to run her palm over the curve of his buttock, quivering under her touch. “You are beautiful, Ross.”

He turned, and she was again awed by the vision of his body. She reached for him, and he stayed her hand as he had the other night. “Not yet, Demelza. Soon. May I join you?” She nodded, touched beyond words by his care and concern for her, and moved to her side of the bed as he flipped the covers back and slipped in beside her.

Ross lifted his arm, drew her against him and sighed. “It feels so good to have you next to me again,” he murmured, kissing the side of her neck. He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. “Tell me if anything frightens you, Demelza. At anytime.”

The heat of his body was almost staggering, and she sensed the power that burned under her palms. However, she could feel the tremors underlying the strength of him, the control he was exerting over his own need made manifest. She nudged away another whisper of anxiety and pulled him down, pausing only for a moment when he slid his knee between hers. He brought his thigh up against her groin. She groaned, any lingering hesitation dashed as the pressure of his leg strengthened her instinctive need to grind herself against it. His hand ran along her side, stroking and squeezing her hip and thigh. Demelza moaned against his mouth, her hips shifting back and forth, moving against the warmth of his leg, her arousal focusing in the tender flesh between her thighs.

“Ross,” she gasped, writhing against him, her nails scoring his back, low along the crest of his flexing buttocks. She could feel him, hard and hot against her hip. “Please.”

He kissed her, hard and fast, turning her onto her back and shifted the bedclothes until they were down around their feet. His eyes travelled up the length of her body, the heat of his gaze making her cheeks flame. He kissed her, deeply, and she shuddered with need from his fervour. “One touch, to start.”

“Yes, y-yes.” His hand touched her mound and she jerked up to press against him. He groaned, and began to thrust his length heavily along the outside of her hip. She mewled, turning her head into the curve of his neck as his fingers ran through the soft russet hairs covering her sex, slipping deep into the wet, swollen flesh beneath and stroked her bud.

And she flew, bursting apart as she reached her peak. Pulses of release radiated through her body as she moved against his hand. His mouth captured hers, drinking in her cries of ecstasy as she shuddered with her release. She felt him jerk against her, and he tore his mouth from hers, gasping as he came against her hip. Warm fluid flowed between them, mixing with their sweat to seal them in their embrace.

Demelza came back to herself in stages. First, the nerves of her body shimmered under skin that felt charged. Hands stroking her hair, lips kissing her neck, the scent of his seed and his indefinable musk, the strength of his arms, the texture of the silky hair on his legs as they tangled with hers. She opened her eyes and found him smiling down at her.

“Good evening, Mrs Poldark,” he drawled, kissing her gently and cradling her in his arms. “How do you feel?”

She looked at him and burst into tears.

“Demelza, did I hurt you?” he choked, panicked. His body tensed against hers as he wrapped her in his arms and held her while she wept against his chest. “Oh God, I was afraid of this.”

She shook her head. “No,” she gasped between sobs, “no, you didn’t hurt me.” He sank against her, and she laughed through her tears at the relief she saw in his eyes. “You taught me, so much!” She pressed kisses along his jaw until he shifted his head to bring his mouth down on hers. She relaxed against the pillow, sinking into its downy softness as their kiss became lush and all-encompassing. She gazed at him when he lifted his head, his warm regard for her held in his whiskey-and-green eyes. “Ross, it’s so… so…”

“Almost too much, isn’t it?” he finished for her. He ran his hand up her side to cup her breast and she shivered at the sensitivity of her nipple under his touch. “You were so stunning, flying apart in my arms.” He kissed her, rubbed his nose with hers before shifting to reach under his pillow. He withdrew a handkerchief. He tended to both of them, wiping his seed from their skin before pulling her back into his arms.

“It was so lovely, with you here next to me,” she murmured against his chest. “So free.” She raised her head to look at him. “We didn’t…”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and drew her back down to his chest. “We’ve plenty of time for that, my girl. That and so much more.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Auntie Dede. Auntie Deedee!” The sound of Geoffrey Charles’s voice slowly wove its way through Demelza’s consciousness.

“Whatisit?” Ross’s sleep-hoarsened voice rumbled in her ear. His arm tightened around her waist to draw her close, his hand sliding down to cup her bum. She purred and burrowed her head against the pillow of his arm, rubbing her nose against his shoulder.

“Auntie Dede, where’s your nightshirt?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll wait until you stop laughing.... :-) Gotta love that kid!
> 
> My thanks to all of you who have given me your kudos, your comments and well wishes as we continue along this journey! All of the support really helps to motivate me to keep going, so it is all very much appreciated!
> 
> I also want to thank those of you who have contacted me privately to thank me for exploring the issue of sexual assault and the aftermath that it can have one one's life. It saddens me, truthfully, to know so many of you have been impacted by this. Several of these women have taken time out of their lives to share their stories with me, and I want to thank _them_ for their candor and willingness to educate me on this important issue. You know who you are, and I will be in your debt. Please continue to keep me honest in this depiction. 
> 
> I've started a Pinterest page to post images that are helping to inspire my writing for this fic. Please feel free to check it out [here](https://www.pinterest.com/michelemmmuses/my-poldark-fanfic-dabblings/).
> 
> Finally, as always, my thanks to rainpuddle13, for giving me this bunny to care for and her beta support. Your friendship means the world to me!


	12. Completion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

“Auntie Dede, where is your nightshirt?”

Ross froze as his nephew’s question reverberated in his head. He felt, more that visualized, the shocked paralysis that had stilled the nestling – and rather arousing – movements his wife made against his body. He looked down to meet her horror-struck gaze as her cheeks infused with boiling red and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. After all, her knee was dangerously close to his genitals.

Instead, he coughed, slowly moved his hand from her full buttocks to grasp the bedclothes and pull them over her shoulder. “She grew warm during the night, my lad,” he said, levering himself onto his elbow to meet Geoffrey Charles’s frank and curious gaze. “What’s the matter?”

“I had a bad dream, Uncle Ross,” the boy said, and not very convincingly. “Can I come in with you and Auntie Dede?”

Ross raised his brows and glanced at Demelza’s face. She was frantically mouthing the word “no” over and over again, as if he wasn’t in complete agreement with her, and forcibly dragged the comforter completely over her head. He couldn’t help but huff out a soft snort of amusement at this, which earned him a sharp pinch near his nipple. He grunted, promising to shortly seek his revenge, and sighed. “Not right now, Geoffrey Charles,” he said, caressing her hip before turning back the covers on his side and swinging his feet onto the floor. He looked at the boy from over his shoulder. “Go back to your room, now. I’ll be with you shortly.”

“Yes, Uncle Ross,” he said sadly, turning and walking slowly to the nursery door. “Bye, Auntie!”

“I’ll see you at breakfast, darling,” her voice trilled from under the mound of bedding. The instant the door clicked shut she ducked her head out from its hiding place. “Judas _God_ , Ross!” she hissed, flopping onto her stomach and covering her head with her pillow. “How much of me did the boy see?”

He lifted the edge of the pillow. “He only saw your bare back, my dear.”

“Oh.” She leaned up on her elbows, knocking the pillow onto the floor. Her hair was a wild, curling riot surrounding her relieved, heart-shaped face. He leaned over to kiss her gently.

“And part of your bum.”

She squeaked and dragged the blankets back over her head. “Ross!”

“It’s a very lovely bum,” he chuckled, reaching his hand under the covers to caress it. He gave it a light swat with the palm of his hand, earning another squeak of indignation from her and laughed, standing to pull on his drawers.

“How in God’s name am I to ever show my face in front of the boy again?” she wailed.

He paused in the act of pulling his shirt on and sat onto the bed. He drew the blankets back with difficulty, but was eventually able to expose her eyes – blazing with fury and embarrassment – to meet his. He slipped under the covers and drew her into his embrace. “I understand your plight, my dear, but I am certain this will not be the last time we find ourselves in this situation. Once we are on the trail, we will no longer be able to rely on having the same amount of privacy we are granted here in our current circumstances.” He brushed a kiss across her pouting lips. “And that includes any time we decide to be intimate.”

“Then I shall just have to wear my nightrail from now on,” she said petulantly before poking a finger against his chest. “And you your nightshirt and drawers.”

He snorted and chuckled at her mulish expression. “I shall do no such thing, my dear.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. “Do you truly wish me to?” She flicked a sidelong glance at him, and then looked appreciatively at his chest before returning her eyes back to his. “I thought not.”

“Oh, all right,” she huffed. “I shall keep it handy so that I can slip it on…after.” He pulled her against him and kissed her, enjoying the play of their teeth, lips and tongues against one another’s before raising his head. Temper gone, she was sleepy-eyed, flushed and alluring, her nipples taut and beckoning. He lowered his mouth to taste the dusky rose peak and felt her fingers rake through his hair to hold him fast. It was all he could do to keep from slipping between her legs and driving himself within her, however he knew he would scare her to death if he tried.

He groaned and leaned up to kiss the tip of her nose. He figured he could manage _that_ much without doing something he’d regret the rest of his life. “As much as I would like to stay here with you and convince you to let me make love to you with the sunrise shining in your hair, I must see to the lad.” He kissed her again and pushed himself away, before his best intentions went up in smoke. “Try to get some rest, my dear.”

“I will,” she said sleepily, snuggling against his pillow and closing her eyes.

And making him wish to climb in behind her. He shook his head. Besotted fool. He grabbed his robe and went over to talk with him nephew. The boy was sitting on the edge of his cot, tears silently falling down his cheeks. He carried a look of sadness far too old for a lad his age to wear. _And here I am, frolicking with my new wife while my nephew is in distress_ , Ross berated himself. He sat down and pulled Geoffrey Charles into his arms. “I am sorry, my dear boy,” he murmured, stroking the blond head nestled against his chest. “Tell me of your dream.”

He began to cry in earnest, the sound causing Drake to rouse and turn curiously towards the cot. Ross mouthed the words “I’m sorry” to his brother-in-law, who shook his head and frowned. “Anything I can do, Ross?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“No, son, thank you, though,” Ross acknowledged with gratitude. Drake nodded, then rose to go to the privy closet.

“It was about Mama and Papa,” Geoffrey Charles whispered, drawing Ross’s attention back to the boy in his lap. “They were at the old house, standing in the window. They were calling to me, but I couldn’t hear them.” He raised a hand to mop away the tears from his cheeks, and then looked up into Ross’s eyes. “Why did they have to die?”

Ross swallowed a lump in his throat and blinked away the moisture that had formed in his own eyes. “They got sick, my lad, very sick. I know they didn’t want to leave you.” He kissed him on the forehead. “I wish they were still here, too.”

“Do you ever dream about them, Uncle Ross?”

Ross nodded. He’d dreamt of Francis one night when he was in Independence. Vivid and unnerving, his cousin had questioned his decision to leave England for America. Images of the dangers their journey still held for them had filled his head. He’d awoken in a cold sweat and spent the rest of the night sitting outside, looking at the stars, to try to bring reason back into his thinking. There really was nothing left back in Cornwall for either he or Geoffrey Charles, and as the date for their departure to the west neared, as plans shifted from notes on a page to reality, the fragile certainty he’d had in his decision became stronger.

He stroked his nephew’s head. Funny, they were technically first cousins, once removed, but because he and Francis had been more like brothers than cousins when Geoffrey Charles was born, Francis had insisted he be called uncle. It was strangely moving, when one thought about it, and heartening.

Ross looked at the boy. “I do dream of your father and mother from time to time, and I miss them terribly. But they would want us to be strong and carry on, wouldn’t they?”

Geoffrey Charles nodded before frowning up at him. “You used to let me sleep with you if I had a bad dream.”

“I know I did, lad, and it’s not that you aren’t welcome to do so with your auntie and me,” Ross said, wondering how to proceed. After all, what did one say to a four-year-old about a subject like this? “But there will be times when you won’t be able to. Married people sometimes use the time they are sleeping to…get to know one another better.” The boy’s frown deepened. “Um…was there ever a time when your mama and papa weren’t able to let you join them?” Geoffrey Charles thought for a moment, and then shook his head. That _was a telling statement_ , Ross thought to himself and sighed, more than a little sad for his late cousins, then swallowed. “Well, your Auntie Demelza and I need time to get to know one another and grow our relationship, make it stronger.”

“Never again?” the lad asked, tears forming in his eyes.

“No, not never,” Ross assured him. “But if something like that happens again, you come and wake me, all right? Not your auntie. She felt very shy about you seeing her like that.”

“She’s not mad at me, is she?”

Ross wrapped the boy in his arms. “Not in the least, dear,” he whispered in Geoffrey Charles’s ear. He held the boy and rocked him gently back and forth and pressed a kiss on the boy’s head.

“I went to her because she let me sleep with her while you were gone.”

Ross blinked in surprise and leaned back to look at his nephew’s somber face. “Did she now?” He glanced up at the door leading to the master bedchamber.

“She said she was lonely,” the lad said. “I noticed she was looking out the window a lot and when I asked her she said she was looking for you.”

Ross kissed his nephew’s forehead. “Thank you for keeping her company for me, Geoffrey Charles. That means a great deal to me.” The boy patted Ross on the cheek affectionately. They both looked up when Drake returned, carrying a pitcher of warm water. “All right, gentlemen, get washed up and I’ll meet you in twenty minutes. We’ve some livestock to go see!” The boys clapped happily. “I’ll tell Demelza we’ll meet her back here for breakfast in an hour.”

He left the boys to get dressed and went back to his bedchamber. Demelza had indeed gone back to sleep – after putting on her nightrail, he observed – and looked to be enjoying her lie-in, a soft smile curving her lips. He quietly padded around the bed and picking up his trousers from the night before. His hand closed on the gift he’d purchased for her while he was in Independence. He’d come across it the day after he’d found the note she’d tucked into his saddlebag. “Stay safe and come home soon. Cinamin Girl.” It had touched him more than he dared admit. He smiled, promising to give it to her as soon as the opportunity presented itself, dressed and sat down at the vanity to leave her a note.

“Ross?”

He turned to find her sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. “Did I wake you, my dear?” She shook her head and stretched. Her nipples tented the front of her nightshift and he stirred. Jesus.

“It’s time for me to get up. I’m not used to sleeping so late in the day.” She paused, her cheeks pinkening. He noticed her assessing him, her eyes sweeping over him from head to toe and back again and wondered what she must be thinking. He lowered his head, looking at her through his eyelashes and her blush deepened.

Now he really _must_ know. “I have to wonder at the kinds of thoughts going through your mind this morning, my dear.” He sat next to her hip, bracing his arms on either side of her body and smirked. “Your cheeks are as red as strawberries.”

Her fingers pleated the sheet in her lap. “What did you say to Geoffrey Charles?” she managed.

“Oh.” Not what he was expecting, but understandable, given the state he’d left her in to go tend to their nephew. He kissed her then got up to reach for her robe to hand to her. “I told him than if he has another bad dream to come talk to me first. We will just have to be more careful.”

“Thank you, Ross.” She slipped the robe on and tied it at her waist, moving to the vanity. She took one look in the mirror and groaned. “Judas, what a mess.”

“What? Your hair?” he asked. “I think it’s beautiful“ He walked over and ran his fingers through it, making her smile with pleasure.

She met his eyes in the mirror. “You’re going out?”

He hummed in agreement. “I was just leaving you a note. Taking the boys to see the new livestock. You’re welcome to come with us, or we can meet you at breakfast.”

“No, it’s going to take me forever to contain this,” she muttered. “I’ll stay here and meet you downstairs. What time is it?” She squinted at the mantle clock’s reflection in the mirror, and then turned, clearly unable to read the time.

A perfect opportunity. “I bought you something while I was in Independence.” He’d spoken so softly he thought she hadn’t heard him correctly. He watched her eyes widen as he set a small velvet pouch on the vanity and placed his hand on her shoulder.

She blinked up at him. “Oh, Ross, you shouldn’t have,” she said, touching his hand and smiling at him over her shoulder. She pulled the drawstring open and tipped the contents of the bag into her hand. A pretty, silver filigree pendant watch and chain sparkled in the sunlight. “Ross!” Her eyes sparkled up at him. “This is beautiful! Thank you!” She stood up, flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. He groaned against her lips, deepening their kiss, until they both stood in the centre of the room, breathing hard and terribly aroused. He leaned back and looked into her deep blue eyes. “Ross,” she murmured. He nuzzled her throat, luxuriating in the fragrance of her hair, and the soft, yielding flesh of her buttocks he softly kneaded under his hands, bringing her body close and soothing the ache low in his groin. “The boys.”

“Dammit,” he groaned, kissing her once more before pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m glad you like the watch,” he said, his voice rough. .

“Oh yes, I love it,” she murmured, pressing kisses along his cheek.

“Thank you for the note you left in my saddlebag, cinnamon girl,” he whispered in her ear.

She leaned back, and he warmed, gazing at her happy, beautiful face. “You’re welcome, Ross.” She flapped a hand and laughed. “Oh, I can fuss with my hair later! Do I have time to get dressed and come along with you gentlemen?”

Ross laughed. “Of course, my dear, but we’ll need to hurry if we’re to be back for breakfast.” he said, giving her a brief kiss. “Do you need help with your stays?”

“Oh, Ross.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza settled in the chair next to the hearth, removed the towelling around her head and shook out her hair. It was time to finish the arduous task of washing and drying her hair. It was something she did only when she had to, about once a week or so, because it was such a chore. There were two things she enjoyed about the task. First, she loved the smell of her freshly washed hair. She used a mild soap, rinsing it with water and then a strong cup of rosemary and lavender tea, for added shine. Second, it gave her ample time to think, and she had much to think about that night.

They were leaving for Washington in four days. She could scarcely believe how quickly time had flown by after Ross’s return from Independence. Ross and Dwight had decided to pool their resources to purchase a larger wagon, which would allow them to consolidate their cargo and carve out a space for anyone to rest inside the smaller wagon. This was done mostly for Geoffrey Charles’s benefit, but would be large enough to accommodate an adult, should the need arise.

Ross had been working on constructing this section for most of the week and he’d taken her to see what he’d done earlier in the day. A partition was built at the midpoint of the wagon, and a cabinet, with two rolling shelves, took up the rear section. The shelves would provide easy access the foodstuffs they would require on a daily basis. The remaining supplies would be hauled in the larger wagon, to be hauled by six of the oxen.

The Poldark-Carne-Enys party now had what looked to be the makings of a legitimate barnyard, with eight oxen, two cows, two horses and eight chickens.

She paused in her combing and frowned into the fire. Chickens. They’d had a difference of opinion regarding the chickens from the moment he proposed including them on his list and it made her question his decision to bring them on the road with them. She was willing to lay odds that he’d had little to no experience with chickens before making the decision to purchase the damn beasts, but she hadn’t had a chance to ask him before he’d silenced her comments with a glance.

“Stubborn know-it-all,” she muttered without heat under her breath. She understood his logic: they would provide eggs and as a convenient meat source to add to their diet. What he didn’t understand was how sensitive and temperamental they could be. The chance of getting a chicken to lay eggs while bumping and shifting along rough roads was next to none. She’d had to tend chickens for as long as she could remember and while she didn’t have anything against the birds, the mess, the noise and the memories of bitten fingers that come from contending with broody hens made her less than thrilled to deal with them under less-than-worthwhile circumstances.

Rather than sulk or pout, she’d chosen to speak with Mrs Lords, the stockyard owner’s wife, for any suggestions she might have on the subject. Twenty minutes later, Demelza walked into the boardinghouse with a smile on her face. Now, all she had to do was wait for her husband to arrive.

She sighed, stopping briefly to switch to her brush and stoked her hair until it crackled. She looked into the fire, the golden flames reminding her of those that often played within her husband’s eyes. The last several nights with Ross had been a revelation to them both. He was a passionate and considerate lover, which she’d known from the start, but his willingness to put her needs first, before seeking satisfaction for himself had the power to make her smile like a lovesick girl one minute and guilt gnaw at her stomach the next. He’d finally allowed her to touch him and familiarize herself with his genitals, and the first time she’d been the one to stroke him to his release had filled her with a sense of awe, freedom, and strength, as if he were ceding part of the control he held within his body to her, trusting her in his moment of vulnerability.

With Ross, intimacy was a power shared, a gift given between the two of them. As they explored the boundaries of their intimacies, Demelza began to gain more understanding about the disparities between her experiences with her husband versus that of Colin’s assault, clear, appreciable differences that were stark and identifiable. She knew must do everything she could to seal the past behind thick, impenetrable walls.

Demelza had been surprised by some of the things Ross had introduced to their lovemaking. She’d been shocked the first time he’d pressed her back against the pillows, kissing and stroking the slick folds of her sex until she’d become mindless with desire. It felt forbidden and delicious, as if he needed to know all of her, with every sense he carried, and when he’d shared her taste with her it was as if she were learning all there was to know about herself, too. Afterwards, he made it very clear that when he’d said she had his permission to explore his body he’d meant it, so when the time came for her to return the favor, they’d both found joy and a deeper commitment between them.

And yet, she still held a fear of formally consummating their relationship. She knew to expect pain – and possibly bleeding – the first time, and that in and of itself was enough to make her anxious, not to mention disappointment in herself. She wanted to know him, all of him, and desired him more than she’d ever thought possible. But would she panic and freeze when he tried to cover her, to position himself for the final act? There had been moments during their lovemaking when her panic at feeling crowded was near the surface, whispering loud enough to make her consider telling him to stop. She’d managed to move past them, mainly because the arousal itself kept her from thinking too much. Still, inherent in that lack of rational thought came the danger of being swept into the kind of recollection that would turn her to ice. Would she be able to push past it, to be able to say, “try” instead of “stop”?

She put her brush down, slipped into her robe and was tying her hair up and away from the back of her neck with the wide, cranberry red ribbon Ross had bought her on their wedding day when he came into their room.

Her heart thumped hard in her chest at the sight of him. The weather had been miserable that day, so he’d dressed for hard work in cold, wet weather. He’d conceded to her wishes not to cut his hair and had taken to tying it back in a stubby little ponytail worn near the crown of his head. Tendrils of damp black hair had escaped the leather thong and straggled near his temples and along the hairline at his nape. Sawdust lightly covered him from head to toe, the thick, red and black Buffalo plaid shirt and black denim trousers damp from the rain.

His eyes, hooded by his black lashes, were cool as they met hers and the disagreement they’d had earlier shifted back to the forefront of her mind. She felt a flutter of nerves at his glance, but was determined to stand up to him if he’d come looking for an argument. He’d been working on the wagon, the scent of freshly cut wood mingled with the sweat of his labors and made her nostrils twitch with pleasure.

“Good evening, Demelza,” he said, his voice low and quiet. He tossed the worn leather gloves he wore to protect his hands onto the dresser as he closed the door. “Are the boys in bed?”

“Yes, for the last half hour or so,” she acknowledged, sitting down in the chair next to the hearth and opened the jar of almond cream Caroline had given her the other day. A fine sprinkling of freckles had appeared within the last day or two, and her new friend had provided the concoction in an effort to stay the progress of their spread. “You were with Dwight all this time?”

He nodded, frowning as he emptied the contents of his pockets and added them to the dresser next to the gloves. “Stopped by the saloon for a drink with him and Mr Lords.” She snuck a glance at him through her lashes and saw him watching her smooth the cream on her neck, shoulders and décolletage and closed the lid to the jar. He reached for the pitcher, felt the side and, seemingly satisfied, poured out half of the contents into the ewer. “The cabinet in the small wagon is finished.”

“Good! Oh, that’s good,” she exclaimed brightly. She turned just in time to see him pull the shirttails from the back of his trousers and shuck the garment from his shoulders. His hands grasped the back of his undershirt and hauled it over his head. _Judas_ , _he makes my knees weak,_ she thought to herself as she watched the play of muscles in his back as he tossed the garments into the basket. He picked up a sponge and squeezed it in the water, quickly running it over his chest and arms. She walked over and picked up the pitcher. “Do you need more water?”

He looked at her from over his shoulder. “No, this will do, Demelza,” he declined, raising his arm to run the sponge along his side and under his arm, repeating the task on the other side. She turned and moved to set the pitcher down on the vanity. “Demelza.”

The tone of his voice made her stop and raise her eyes to meet his. They were dark and troubled and she felt a twinge in her throat. He extended his hand to her. “Ross.” She set the pitcher down and walked to his side, slipping her hand in his.

He pressed a kiss on her temple, breathed in. “Did you wash your hair?” he asked. She nodded, felt the stubble on his chin catch in the fine strands along her hairline. “It smells lovely. Like my mother’s herb garden in summer.”

Her heart twisted inside her chest. “Ross—”

“—Demelza, I’m sorry,” he murmured against her hair. She wrapped her arms around his waist and stood in front of him. “I was dismissive, and stubborn and—”

“—Completely wrong-headed about the chickens?” she finished for him, a feeling of lightness filling her chest.

He nodded. “I was talking about the plans I had for the coops when Mr Lords overheard me.”

“Did he now?” she said, the corner of her mouth twitching. “And what did he say?”

He looked at her. “If I had to guess, the same thing you would have told me if I’d given you a chance to do so,” he said sheepishly. That they are messy and won’t lay on an arduous journey like the one we have in store for us.” She couldn’t help but smile, which earned her a gentle pinch on her bum. “We have plenty of meat to see us through until we reach the Shawnee Mission in Kansas, but I still don’t know what to do about the eggs.”

“Pack them in the corn meal barrel,” she beamed, kissing the underside of his stubborn jaw. “They will stay cool and secure and will save us the cargo space. We replenish as we move along the trail.”

Ross blinked. “That’s brilliant.” He smiled, his eyes crinkling with wonder. “Did you come up with that on your own?”

Demelza shook her head. “I went to visit _Mrs_ Lords. She told me how to do it,” she admitted happily and stroked his chest, its thick hairs tickling her palms. “I even have a suggestion for how we acquire chickens once we arrive in Washington,” she said, not troubling to keep a note of smugness out of her voice. “We barter Tahoma’s stud services for them.” She relished the look of shock and admiration that raced across his face.

He cupped her face in his hands. “That will teach me not to consult with you on these matters in the future, my dear.” He brushed a kiss across her lips. “Forgive me?”

“Of course, Ross,” she murmured, rising on tiptoe to press her lips against his. He shifted his hands from her face to her waist, pulling her tight against him. She sank into his embrace, her hands snaking up, enjoying the gentle growl that rumbled up from his chest as her fingers toyed with the loose hair at the nape of his neck. His tongue caressed her bottom lip before moving to touch and mate with hers, and his hands slipped down to draw her hips close to his.

“Demelza,” he breathed, his mouth leaving hers to trail kisses across her cheek and to her neck. “Rosemary and almonds.” His teeth nipped her neck. “You make me hungry.”

“Come to bed, Ross,” she sighed against his mouth.

His eyes darkened and he smiled. “Help me with my boots, my dear.” She nodded and followed him over to one of the chairs and knelt in front of him, squatting down against her heels. She worked in silence, leaning her head against his hand as he stroked her hair. “I love your hair,” he whispered, his finger running along the ribbon.

She pulled the second boot and socks free. “I love yours, too, dearest,” she said softly, nervous about her use of the endearment, wondering if she revealed too much of what she felt for him with the word. She levered up onto her knees, sliding her hand to the back of his neck and kissed his throat, where his pulse beat strong under her lips. He hummed, deep, cupping her cheek before he stood, offering his hand to help her to her feet. His eyes gleamed, whisky, smoke and emeralds in a face saved from perfection by the vivid scar bisecting his cheek.

“Ross, I want to try tonight.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross’s hand jerked, gripping hers harder than he intended, and she gasped. He hissed out a breath and raised the slightly bruised knuckles a kiss. There was something different about her eyes tonight, a surety and determination he’d not seen before. “Are you certain, my dear?”

She smiled shyly. “We only have a few days left here in this lovely room, Ross.” She paused, her cheeks blooming with beautiful colour. “And there’s another reason.” She looked up at him. “My courses are due to start in two days.”

“I see.” He felt his own cheeks grow warm. He was surprised that the thought of her monthly time hadn’t ever crossed his mind. _Too focused on other things._ He smiled ruefully, and then gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Marital life is filled with new experiences, is it not, Demelza?”

She laughed. “Very true, Ross.”

“How long are you…you usually indisposed?” he asked hesitantly.

Her blush deepened. “Four or five days,” she said. “I am quite lucky not to be too burdened with discomfort.”

“Well, if you should require anything, please let me know, my dear,” he said softly, stroking her cheek.

“I will,” she assured him. “So you understand why I wish to try tonight?”

He nodded. “Yes, but we do not have to rush this, my dear, despite the time pressures that seem to be caging us.” He gathered her against him, and ran his hand down her back, delighting in the small shiver his touch elicited. “We have been progressing quite well so far.”

And they had been. Her touches and caresses had become more bold and spontaneous, and she’d grown accustomed to the shifting intensity of his need for her, calmer in those moments when his hands would press her down or grip her with greater urgency than before. They’d even reached the point where she trusted him enough to submit to his desire to satisfy her with his mouth and tongue. He still remembered the look of horrified wonder that filled her eyes when he tasted her for the first time, just before she came apart under the caress of his tongue. He savoured the sea salt and spice of her body, relished the freedom and joy that filled every line and curve of her body when she reached her climax. Not to mention her willingness to share what she’d learned from him on his own eager flesh. She hadn’t hesitated, as he’d feared, simply looked up the length of his body with her sea goddess eyes and drew him into her mouth. And when she’d brought him to his end, she slithered up his side and kissed him with more passion than he’d ever experienced before, the taste of his seed on her tongue, the taste of him on her lips.

“I know, Ross,” she agreed eagerly. “That is why I want to try.”

He closed his eyes. “But will you be able to have me covering you?” he asked baldly. “To be looming over you in that moment?”

She swallowed. “We won’t know if we don’t try.” Her nails pressed into the skin of his lower back and he pressed forward, his cock rigid against her mound. “I know what we have together is completely different from what…what happened in Cornwall.” It was their code phrase for what that bastard had done for her, since the sound of his name made Ross wish to strangle him. “I trust you, dearest Ross. I know you would never hurt me or frighten me, or take something I wasn’t prepared to give.”

“You realize I _will_ have to hurt you, this first time.” He spoke with complete candour. “That I may cause you to bleed.”

“Y-Yes,” she stammered.

He frowned. “There you have it, Dem—”

“—And I promise,” she interrupted, holding his gaze with the intensity of her own, “if it becomes too much, we will not stop as we have before, but we may have to try something else.” She stroked his side. “You have told me there are many ways to make love. Surely there is a way that would work for us.”

He nodded, his own resolve beginning to waver. “The way that will cause you the least amount of pain is for me to be atop you,” he said. “It will be quick, quicker than others.”

“Then that is what we will do,” she decided, “because I would have you know me as your wife and for me to know you as my husband before tonight is through.”

He read the declaration in her eyes and nodded, his mind racing to figure out what he would do when the moment came. He kissed her, allowing himself to drown in the pleasure of her lips and tongue against his, the feel of her body as it came alive against his. He broke their kiss, heart thundering in his chest and took her hand. “Come with me.”

He walked them over to the chairs near the hearth and sat down. She leaned down and kissed him. His neck stretched to reach her, their mouths hungrily tasting one another as her fingers untied the leather thong he used to secure his hair. He shuddered and groaned, breaking their kiss and nestling his face against and between her breasts as her nails raked his scalp, her fingers loosening and freeing his hair. He looked up at her when she finished, her eyes dark as sapphires as she cupped his cheeks and kissed him.

“Trade places with me, my dear,” he murmured. She cocked her head and nodded, confused. And shuddered when his hands untied the ribbon to free her hair.

“Ross,” she breathed, pressing her cheek against his stomach as he ran his fingers through the long, fragrant strands of blazing red and copper. She pressed her lips against him, dipped her tongue into his navel. His hips flexed in response and he drew her up onto her feet.

“Take off your nightrail for me, Demelza.” She nodded slowly, her fingers drawing the fabric up her legs until she could gather it in her hands and draw it over her head. He reached for her, gathering her against him. He kissed her, allowing him to be enveloped in her with all his senses: the cinnamon spice of her mouth, the herbal scent of her hair, the satiny feel of her skin, so pale against his own and the soft, mewling sounds from her throat. He lifted his mouth and smiled at her. “Can you help me out of my trousers?” She blinked up at him, eyes heavy from desire and leaned back to unbutton his garment and untie the drawstring of his drawers. Once done she looked up one last time before slipping her hands along his lower back to his buttocks, pushing the fabric down, pausing once to ease the drawers over the head of his cock before shucking them down to his thighs. Gravity carried them the rest of the way to the floor.

The two of them stood, naked and admiring one another for several moments before she reached for him, running her hands over his chest and hips. He gave her a swift kiss then picked her up, carrying her to their bed. He laid her down, slipping under the bedclothes with her and drawing her into his embrace.

They rolled against one another, hands now familiar with one another’s favourite touch and caress. The way she would arch her back and her fingers would spear into his hair when he suckled her breast, her shiver when he brushed the inside of her thigh with his stubbled cheek, and the sharp, breathy sighs she would gasp as he slipped his arms under her hips, splaying his hands across her stomach and lowering his head between her thighs. God, she was sweet, tangy on his tongue, so slick and hot and swollen. He glanced up, seeing her writhing, imploring him towards her release and sensed the time had come. He focused his energies on her clit, his tongue circling and stroking in time with her movements, the tip of his longest finger stroking the opening of her quim, feeling it quiver and flutter against him.

“Ross,” she mewled, colour suffusing her upper chest as her climax began.

He pressed an urgent kiss on her inner thigh, crawled up her body, parting her legs with his own, his hips settling within the cradle of hers. Her eyes flew open, hazy with pleasure and the edge of panic. “I’m sorry, cinnamon girl,” he gasped and entered her.

He felt, and heard, the moment her flesh tore under him as he sunk deep into her body. It was if it rent his heart in two, hearing her cry out with shock and pain. The heat of her left him breathless and trembling, the tightness caressing his cock to its root as the last flutters of her orgasm left her. Her nails bit into his shoulders and he held himself still, as still as he possibly could when every instinct in his body was screaming for him to thrust, possess, mate, claim. Take. She looked at him, tears coursing down her cheeks and she wept. He kissed her, pressed kisses all along her beautiful, agonized face; his Demelza, always his, so much a part of him now it terrified him, yet brought him peace and contentment at the same time.

“Darling,” he said, his voice hoarse with concern, “I’m so sorry.” Panicked, he held her and turned so they lay on their sides, partially slipping from her warmth with their movement.

She shook her head. “No, Ross, don’t apologize,” she choked.

“Lower your left leg, my girl, yes, that’s it.” She shifted, relaxing her leg next to his. He grasped her right, holding it tight over his hip and thrust forward once again. She gasped, a slight wince of discomfort crossing her features, but opened her eyes; dark and swimming with unshed tears. “God, what am I doing?” he moaned, despairing the pain his body caused her. “I can’t.”

He started to withdraw when he saw it in her eyes: a tiny flicker of pleasure. “Ross,” she breathed, her voice deeper, with need or pain he wasn’t sure. “Again, please.” He pressed his hips forward, back deep into the liquid heat of her body and felt the leg he held tight clasp him by her own accord. She gasped, her eyes widening when a tremulous smile twitched the corner of her mouth. “Oh, Ross,” she sighed, her arms slipping around him.

“Demelza…oh God,” he groaned, lowering his head to her shoulder, hips thrusting against hers, the thin tether restraining million of years of instinct snapping after being kept so long at bay. He heard her breathy moans in his ear as he bit his bottom lip, giving over to need, lust, desire, love. This last word echoed in his brain as he felt the first spasms of his orgasm grip him and cast him out over the edge of oblivion.

The room was silent, with the exception of their breathing. A log shifted on the hearth and he raised his head from the curve of her neck to look at his wife. She lay, blue green eyes wide open and gazing at him with more open adoration than he knew what to do with. He huffed out a nervous laugh, and she raised her hand to cover his lips before leaning in to kiss him. “Good evening, my husband,” she whispered, emotion causing it to quaver.

He kissed her, lush and unrestrained, pouring in everything he felt into its caress of her. “Demelza,” he murmured. “Good evening, my wife.” She rubbed her nose against his and lowered her leg from over his hip, wincing a little as she moved. He eased back, losing the tenuous connection between their bodies, and drew her against him. They lay quietly for several moments until, eventually, he shifted his head to look at her. “Tell me, my dear,” he said softly. “Are you all right? How are you?”

“Happy.” She smiled shyly, her finger tracing lazy circles around his chest. “Close to you.”

He stroked her back, then leaned up on his elbow to look down at her. “Were you frightened, Demelza?” A shadow passed through her eyes. “I thought I saw something. Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because I didn’t want to stop,” she asserted, “even though there was a moment, just a second when I felt crowded. But it passed, Ross.”

He sank back down onto the mattress, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. She sighed against his mouth. “You don’t have anything you have to try to prove to me,” he murmured.

“I know I don’t, but I want to prove it to myself,” she stated. Her eyes clouded. “I thought you’d be happy, too.”

He turned and captured her cheek in his hand, smoothing her golden brow with his thumb. “Demelza, I am married to a beautiful, sensual woman who has honoured me tonight beyond imagining. I couldn’t be happier.” He kissed her, twining his legs with hers and stroked his hand down to the crest of her buttocks. “I just worry. Are you in much discomfort?”

“No, not so much anymore,” she said quietly.

“I hated causing you pain,” he admitted. “I shall never forget the sound of your cry at that moment.” He swallowed before raising his hand, his index finger brushing at the skin near the corner of her eye, where the moist tracks of her tears were still visible, disappearing into her hair.

“It only lasted a moment, Ross. And then, it was lovely.” She nuzzled his neck. “But I do feel a little tender, and sticky.”

She blushed prettily. “Let me tend you, my dear,” he offered, kissing her forehead and rising from the bed. He glanced down at his cock, unsurprisingly marked with her blood and his seed. He clenched his jaw and walked over to the ewer. He sponged himself clean then picked up a fresh hand towel and the pitcher. He knelt next to her and, dampening the towel, drew back the bedclothes, pressed her back against the mattress and gently cleaned the evidence of their lovemaking from the inside of her thighs.

She gasped when she saw the pinkish stains on the towel. “Is it bad?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

He shook his head. “No, not bad.” He leaned in to kiss her. “I’m sorry.”

She cupped his cheek. “No apologies, Ross.”

He nodded, rinsing and ringing out the towelling and folded it into a small compress. He handed it to her. “Press that against yourself, my dear. The water is cool, but it will help with any swelling.”

“Thank you,” she said, and then glanced at the sheet beneath her. “Oh, Ross, we’ve stained the sheet.”

He nudged her over to the other side of the bed, slipped back under the bedclothes with her and drew her against his chest. “We will soak it in cold water tomorrow morning, dear. No need to trouble yourself with it now.” He kissed her. “I should have put something down underneath us, but I wasn’t thinking too clearly towards the end.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured, setting the damp cloth onto the floor and cuddling against his side. “I’d like to try again, soon, Ross.”

“We will, sweetheart,” he said, nuzzling the skin below her ear. “But tomorrow night will be soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was probably the most difficult chapter I've ever written. Everyone loves the romance of The Perfect First-Time Experience, but for those of us who have...well...experienced it know that they are oftentimes anything but perfect. They're messy, unsatisfying, terrifying and -- sadly, for many -- unwanted. Fortunately, for our Romelza, the desire is there. But obstacles are also present, including the lingering fears from the incident in Cornwall. So writing this required that I get it right, not perfect. There will be time for perfect moments for these two as they continue to "get to know one another" (well put, Ross, you goober) but not now.
> 
> Thank you for all your support through your kudos, comments, tumblr asks and tweets. They are a driving force in keeping me motivated to continue writing, as they are for all fan fic writers. This chapter now exceeds the word count for Awaiting Julia, which blows my mind, because we haven't even left on the trail yet! Gads... I hope you're in for the long haul.
> 
> Speaking of long hauls, words can't express my gratitude towards rainpuddle13 for her support. I bet you had no idea when you gave me this bunny that you'd be beta reading THIS much. Thanks for the time and energy you put into it. Love you bunches, girlfriend! And to xxSparksxx for her encouragement and wisdom about chickens! I promise Demelza will have to contend with a broody hen once they get to Washington, just for you! :-)
> 
> Finally, my thanks for my friends A and I, who has been so pivotal in helping me understand the struggles Demelza would be experiencing, and for their continued guidance. Just because they've managed to consummate their marriage doesn't mean everything is fixed. God bless you two and all of the other women and men who are survivors of sexual abuse and assault. You are stronger than you realize.
> 
> More links to consider:
> 
> [mmmuses Pinterest page "Poldark Fanfic Dabblings"](https://www.pinterest.com/michelemmmuses/my-poldark-fanfic-dabblings/)   
>  [Chickens on the Oregon Trail](http://justfowlingaround.weebly.com/stories/category/chickens-on-the-oregon-trail)   
>  [Eggs in the corn meal? Yep!](http://www.oregontrailcenter.org/HistoricalTrails/Supplies.htm)   
>  [Shampoo -- Victorian era (about as close as I could get)](http://www.ourheritageofhealth.com/victorian-shampoo-alternatives/)


	13. Explorations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Possible Trigger Warning:** Demelza recounts an incident of physical abuse from her childhood in this chapter. The reference is brief and non-graphic.

Ross opened his eyes to find Demelza sheltered in the warmth of his embrace, her face tucked under the covers. He smiled and touched her hair, slipping fingers through its wildness. “What are you doing, my dear?”

She sighed, and then breathed in deeply. “Taking in the scent of us.” She lifted the bedclothes and smiled beatifically up at him. He cupped her cheeks and drew her up to kiss him, closing his eyes and losing himself in the heaven of her arms. She stroked his ribs and back as his tongue plundered her mouth, drinking in the soft, sweet sounds her need for him elicited. He slid his lips along her cheek to her jaw, growling against her arching neck to sample the skin of her shoulder. His tongue caressed the mark he’d left there moments ago, when the caress of her soft buttocks had roused him from sleep, and, despite his worries, found himself slipping into her warmth once again, spooning behind her to gently thrust against her squirms of sighing delight. He’d reached around her hip to stroke her clit as his vision narrowed and nearly blacked out the first time he felt her squeeze around his cock. He’d bit down on her shoulder, his semen flooding her as he jerked and trembled behind her.

He looked at the mark now, the dark red of it such a contrast to the paleness of her skin and drew back, his brow furrowing with concern.

She opened her eyes at his stillness and frowned. “Ross? What’s the matter?”

“I fear I may have been overenthusiastic in marking your shoulder, my dear,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over the bruise.

She peered down at her shoulder and brushed a kiss against his chin. “It will be well hidden by my shirtwaists, dearest,” she said softly, and then settled against his chest, her fingers running through the thick hair near his left nipple.

“I like that,” he murmured against her head, his arm tightening around her waist.

Her pretty blue eyes met his, glimmering with feline delight. “You like what, Ross?” she asked, circling his nipple.

He shivered as it rose to her touch. “That, in particular, very much. But no, that’s not what I meant.” He paused, kissing her temple. “I like that you called me ‘dearest’,” he admitted. She stilled the movement of fingers and lowered her eyes. He shifted until her head lay on her pillow and leaned onto his elbow to look at her. “I’ve never had anyone call me by a nickname, let alone an endearment, Demelza.”

“I mean it, Ross,” she said softly. She stroked his cheek, the rasp of his whiskers hissing through the quiet, and smiled up at him. “You are so very dear to me.” Her voice caught and he saw a tear slip out of the corner of her eye.

“What is it, cinnamon girl?” he asked, his throat tightening with concern.

She swiped at the tear and nuzzled close. “I’m very happy, Ross,” she said.

“As am I,” he agreed, and kissed her. He raised his head at a sound coming from the other room and kissed the tip of her nose. “I believe the boys are up now, so I suggest you put on your nightrail before we have a repeat of the other day.” She giggled and slipped out from his embrace to reach for the garment, which she’d tucked under her pillow in the night. He watched appreciatively as the sun dappled the skin of her back, then froze. “Stop, please,” he said, sitting up and stilling her actions with his hand.

“What is it?” she asked, fear in her voice.

“Your back, my dear,” he said hoarsely, his finger tracing a scar he hadn’t noticed before, just under her right shoulder blade. It appeared to be in the shape of a belt buckle and his soul churned at the thought. “Is that what I think it is?”

She’d gone as still as a statue at his touch, a light tremor running through her when he spoke, but nodded at his question. “Yes,” she acknowledged, her voice flat. “It happened when I was ten years old.” She turned to face him, pale, her eyes dark with memory. “I’d hoped it had faded since then.”

“What on earth could you have done for him to strike you, hard enough to…?” He hadn’t the stomach to continue, but visualized it with graphic detail in his head: her tender skin broken and bleeding from the metal buckle, the pain she must have endured as it healed. He drew her nightrail down to cover her upper body and gathered her against him, running his hands over her back and kissing her cheek and lips, then pulled back to look at her. “No one will ever raise their hand to you again, Demelza,” he vowed, rage at this unseen monster simmering in the depths of his gut. “And if someone should, I will end them.”

“Oh, Ross,” she whispered brokenly, clinging to him. He held her as she cried against his shoulder, stroking her hair that billowed soft and fragrant near his nose. “You can’t know what that means to me.”

He pulled back slightly and the corner of his mouth twitched up into a grin as he watched her cover her face with her hands. “Look at me, sweetheart,” he murmured. He tugged at one of her hands, only to have her shake her head and huddle closer, tucking her head under his chin. He sighed and rocked her until she began to dab at her face with the sleeve of her nightrail.

“Judas, I must be a blotchy mess,” she rasped, shaking her locks forward to hide behind.

He brushed the hair back and cupped her cheeks, tilting her face up to his. The tip of her nose was red, and yes, her cheeks were a bit mottled, but she was still beautiful, despite the tears. “You’re mine, Demelza. Mine. And I protect what is mine.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her close.

She smiled tremulously, settled her head under his chin. “Thank you, dearest,” she sighed.

 

He found himself thinking about the scar on her back for much of the rest of the morning. They were starting to load up the wagons with the supplies and belongings they would need for the journey ahead. Tedious, backbreaking work that left him plenty of time to spend in his head, brooding. They’d spent a little time discussing their histories that first night she’d been in town, but clearly not in enough detail. She’d provided that shortly after they rose to dress.

She’d been tidying the kitchen before going to bed when she accidently knocked over a fresh bottle of gin her father had just brought home after a night at the kiddleys onto the floor. Drunk and enraged at the squandered drink and coin, he’d stripped the belt from his waist and brought it down on her back. The buckle tore through the back of her nightgown and ripped into her skin. The bleeding had been horrible, and the incident forged the fear she’d felt towards her father from that day forward.

There was a part of him that almost welcomed the opportunity to pummel his fists against Tom Carne and Colin Polgarry’s faces. Since that was about as unlikely a possibility as there being snow in July, punishing himself with the physical labour of packing would have to do.

“Ross!” Dwight’s voice pulled him out of his musings. He looked up to see his friend standing amidst the bags and barrels inside the larger of their two wagons. “Are you certain we have enough coffee? It’s something you don’t want to go without, especially as we get further west of the plains. The level of alkaline in the water makes it taste abysmal.”

Ross dug in his pocket and pulled out the list of cargo they’d accumulated over the last several months. In addition to the recent acquisition of baking soda, corn meal, hardtack, dried beans, dried fruit, dried beef, molasses, vinegar, pepper and eggs, they had collected and packed over a half-ton of supplies over the last few days including the following: seven hundred fifty pounds of flour, one hundred fifty pounds of biscuits, five hundred pounds of bacon, seventy-five pounds coffee, five pounds of tea, one hundred twenty-five sugar, and fifty pounds of lard.

Not to mention the fifty-three gallon barrel of bourbon. Ross had no idea how Dwight was able to finagle that from the barkeep in Independence, but he was eternally grateful.

“We’ve seventy-five pounds of coffee, which ought to do, since the boys will drink tea. As a matter of fact, I’d contemplated more tea – Demelza prefers it – and figured her portion of the coffee could be easily split between the two of us,” Ross said, his frown deepening.

“Well, it’s not uncommon to use the dregs of the previous day’s coffee to flavour the water the animals drink,” Dwight said, removing his kerchief and mopping his brow.

“Truly?” Ross scoffed. The expression on his friend’s face removed all humour from his thoughts. He chewed on his bottom lip. “I’ll add another couple pounds of coffee and another pound of tea, just to be on the safe side,” he said, extracting his pencil from his pocket and scribbling down the additions.

“How is Demelza?” Dwight asked, causing Ross’s head to jerk up from his writing. “Sorry, mate! Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Ross had just been thinking about her, and expression on her face when she had her tea at breakfast. He had been talking with Geoffrey Charles when he’d happened to glance up and catch her eyes fixed on his mouth, her eyes naked with hunger. It had made him wish to pull her back up the stairs and spend the rest of the day making love to her. The memory had caused a similar desire to rise within him and he found himself, semi-erect and near groaning with need.

The smirk on his friend’s face made his cheeks burn with the realization that he’d not masked his thoughts well enough. “Fine, Dwight, she’s fine,” he said, flicking a glance at him before shoving the note and pencil in his pocket and hoisting a bag of dried beans onto his shoulder. He walked over and flipped it onto the end of the wagon. “She said she would be bringing the boys by later this afternoon.”

“Pretty impressive how she worked out what to do about the eggs, I must say,” Dwight said with a chuckle. “I can’t imagine you were actually looking forward to dragging a bunch of chickens across the west.”

“No,” Ross confirmed, arching a wry brow in his friend’s direction, “and I was thrilled with her ingenuity in her solution. Although it will require us scavenging as many eggs as we can wrangle from the good folks of St Joseph. But infinitely better than having a flock of angry, brooding hens taking up space and eating more food than we will.”

“It appears the two of you have settled into your new relationship,” Dwight observed.

“How do you figure that?” Ross asked, picking up another bag of beans and heading over towards the wagon.

“Well, the two of you can’t seem to be around one another without touching,” Dwight quipped, lighting a cigar and taking a leisurely puff. Ross started, fumbling the beans and watched helplessly as the bag split upon impact. He swore loudly and raised furious eyes up to his friend who shrugged and snorted at the same time. “Enys…”

“My apologies, Ross,” Dwight guffawed, “I’ll buy another bag of beans. But it’s true. It’s nice to see, my friend.” He jumped down from the wagon and placed his hand on Ross’s shoulder. “The two of you together. As if the decision to marry wasn’t one you’d balked at when first suggested.”

Ross nodded. “That’s true, but Dwight, what were the chances of things turning out this way?” He leaned against the back of the wagon and stretched. “It makes me wonder if I’ve cast my lifetime’s lot for happiness on one hand of cards and it’s come up aces. What does that mean for the _rest_ of my life?”

“Well, if you keep thinking _that_ way, the rest of your life won’t matter more than that pile of beans,” Dwight said, leaning next to him and gestured at the scattering of beans on the ground. They were mixed with a miasma of dirty hay and God only knew what by now. “Remember, when you first arrived here? Still grieving the loss of your cousins, the mine, everything? You told me you believed everything you touched was cursed.” He drew in on his cigar and blew out a thin stream of smoke. “That’s bollocks.” Dwight fixed Ross with a level, serious look. “Bad things happen sometimes, and it’s not because it’s fated to be. You got lucky with Demelza, Ross. Enjoy it.”

He turned and jumped back into the wagon. “Let’s finish up and get some dinner.”

They’d finished eating and were about to head back to the warehouse when Demelza, Drake and Geoffrey Charles walked into the foyer of the boarding house. She wore the sun bonnet he’d bought for her, a bright apple green ribbon on its crown today. It was clear she hadn’t been wearing it the whole time because a sprinkling of freckles dusted across her cheeks and the fine straight line of her nose. He found himself charmed at the sight of them. “Good afternoon, my dear,” he said, kissing her on her cheek. “Where have the three of you been all this time?”

“We’ve been gathering eggs, Uncle Ross!” Geoffrey Charles said.

“Is that a fact?” he asked, glancing up at his wife and wondering how many of the eggs had survived the quest.

“We only lost six,” Drake said dryly, “because someone tried to jump off the last step of Mr Tully’s farmhouse.”

“We’ve managed to find six dozen, total, Ross,” Demelza said, her pleasure at their success clear in her eyes. “More than enough for us to make it to the mission.” She cast a fond glance at her brother. “Drake managed the small wagon with Bite and Belle without any difficulty.” Ross smiled at that: the pair of oxen were apparently joined at the horn, and Bite – named for his tendency to do just that with everyone except Drake – followed the boy around like a trained puppy. “We figured we would stop here to see if you two were finished with dinner before heading over to the storehouse.”

“Your timing is perfect,” Dwight said, tipping his hat to Demelza. “How about if I go with the boys and you two follow along on foot?”

He arched a brow at his friend’s less-than-innocent look and nodded. “We will be along directly.” The boys gambolled out the front door with Dwight square on their heels. Ross brushed a quick kiss on Demelza’s lips. “Are you hungry? I’m sorry, I didn’t even bother to ask if you all had eaten.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’d asked Mrs Sherman for a picnic hamper with some sandwiches that we ate along the way.” She tucked her hand in his arm, leaning close to press her breast against his arm as they exited the boarding house. “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you,” he said. Several tendrils clung to the back of her neck, damp with sweat and he blew against them, teasing a few strands free. He smiled at her giggle and turned to escort them back to the storehouse. “How are you, cinnamon girl?” he asked, his deep baritone soft in her ear. He hoped the intent of his question was clear in his voice and was happy to see the soft blush stain her cheeks.

“I am fine, Ross,” she murmured, glancing up into his eyes. They sparkled with blue-green vitality. “The exercise has done me well today.”

“You are not too…tender from the morning?” he pressed, and was stirred by the look she gave him through her lashes. “I didn’t have a chance to ask you earlier.” His finger stroked her knuckles. “I hadn’t intended to…I’d thought to wait until tonight before…”

“I know, dearest,” she said soothingly, and the word moved over him like a summer breeze. “I am far more resilient than you think I am.” They came to the corner and he turned, ducking them into a secluded alcove next to the general store and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with a hunger that had seemed to boil up from nowhere. The brims of their hats shielded them from view as their tongues met and tangled for several minutes before they separated, overheated and visibly aroused. “Ross,” she sighed against his mouth, her eyes widening at the near desperation she must have read in his eyes. His hips nudged hers, bringing her up onto her toes. “You can’t mean to—”

“—No, no,” he interrupted. He brushed the backs of his fingers across the peak of the nipple that strained against her green-and-white striped shirtwaist and her shuddering gasp made him close his eyes. He looked up, the boarding house stairs still within view. “But, Dwight has the boys to mind.”

She blushed scarlet yet grinned conspiratorially. He laughed and, quickly adjusting his breeches, grasped her hand and led her back to the boarding house. 

~*~*~*~*~*

Demelza Carne Poldark opened her eyes on the thirty-first of March 1857, spooned in the embrace of her husband, and realized another chapter of her life was about to begin. Three hours from now, they would congregate by the ferry landing and begin their six-month journey to the Pacific Northwest. She smiled at the last: the Pacific Northwest. The mere sound of the words was exotic, mysterious and she was eager to get underway.

And it was an adventure she would begin with a family, a trusted family that cared for one another. And what of her own feelings about the three men who were now her sole family in this vast country? She was undeniably, head over heels in love with Geoffrey Charles, her new nephew. Their connection had almost been instantaneous. And she’d loved her brother Drake from the moment he’d taken his first breath, and – despite only being a child herself – had pledged to care for him as if he were her own, as her mother had taken her last.

So, what about the man whom she’d pledged her life to exactly two weeks ago from that day? She loved him, of course, beyond anything or anyone she ever could have imagined. She still considered herself more fortunate than she’d had a right to be, to have stumbled into the arms of this decent, honourable, devastatingly handsome man. She’d learned much about Ross over the last two weeks; besides the passion and intimacies he’d taught her. The love he held for Geoffrey Charles, evident from the first time she’d seen the two together, his friendship with Dwight, and the patience, understanding and willingness to protect her and her brother, despite the deceptions she’d played upon him. And when she’d given him the right to assert his marital privileges, he’d willingly put them aside for her comfort, at his own great, personal discomfort, until she deemed herself ready.

Now that they’d consummated their marriage, she revelled in the experiences she had with Ross. She was the first to admit the pain she’d endured that first time had been more intense than she’d thought it would be. Through her own pain she’d seen the look of anguish he’d had in his eyes, the conflict that raged through him in that moment. But in the next, she’d seen that struggle change to pleasure as her discomfort receded, replaced by the most overwhelming ecstasy she’d ever experienced.

He only had to look at her from across the room to make her pulse race, the need for him to build like a rekindled flame. And in the days and nights since, they’d found as many opportunities to explore their newfound intimacies as they could. For Demelza, spending time in her husband’s arms in the pretty master bedchamber was like something out of a fairy story. Some of the gestures they’d shared had taken on an almost sacred quality, an offering of foreplay that would make her skin tingle with anticipation. He’d asked if he could undress her hair, removing the hairpins and ribbons she used each day, running his fingers along her scalp and through the waist-long strands. She’d asked to help him with his boots, and thoroughly enjoyed the look of pleasure that would cross his features as she massaged his calves and washed his feet. These touches and caresses would inevitably grow into something more and, before long, would leave them both trembling in each other’s arms.

There had been moments, however, when the memories of that night in Cornwall would throw ice into her veins, but these had been curtailed by choosing ways to make love that limited Demelza’s tendency to grow panicked whenever Ross attempted to cover her with his body. She wanted to know what it felt like to cushion his weight against her, to be pressed into the mattress, for him to rest within her body, her legs wrapped around his waist until they shuddered and wept with release. Each time they’d attempted it had caused her breathing to shorten and panic to steal through her veins. It was the one thing that continued to enrage her, wish to slap Colin Polgarry into oblivion, for keeping that experience from her. One day, she promised herself. It would happen one day, soon.

A low, sleepy purr rumbled deep in Ross’s chest and his hand flexed against her breast. She snuggled closer, the brush of his body hair against her back making her toes curl with pleasure. The moist heat of his groin nested tight against her buttocks, and his penis twitched to life, making her shiver deep within her quim. She arched her back, adjusting her position enough to feel the head of his cock move closer to her outer lips when his hand left her breast to close onto her hip, stilling her motion and shifting her onto her back.

“Good morning, Demelza,” he said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. He slid his hand across her stomach and kissed her. “Did you sleep well?” She nodded, turning onto her side to rest her arms against his chest and kissed him, lingering in the task and caressing his tongue with hers. He growled against her mouth and ran kisses along her cheek and jaw. She made a move to shift her leg up and over his hip, but he stopped her once again, his hand firm against her thigh.

She leaned back and looked at him. “Dearest?” she asked, confused. She moved closer, sliding her arms around his lower back and brushing the curls sheltering her sex against his cock and watching his eyes close, his breath to huff from his lungs. The hand tightened against her thigh once again.

“You know I do,” he said, drawing her near to brush his lips against hers. “But we’re going to be heading out today and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable on the wagon.” He turned onto his back, and she followed his lead, curving herself to fit along his side. “We will probably put in ten miles, at least today – maybe even fifteen – to allow the oxen teams to acclimate to the demands of the trail. Some of them have run long haul before, but some of the others have not.” His lips brushed her temple, and she felt the length of his four-day-old beard brush her cheek. It had gone past the prickly stage, and now felt divine against her skin. As he’d demonstrated last night when he’d spent what felt like a blissful eternity, tasting the flesh between her legs before encouraging her to mount him for the first time.

She shivered with the memory and clamped her thighs together. “Ross, I will be fine,” she said, shifting her leg between his and brushing her damp curls high against his thigh. “I made a pillow for the bench seat, and you just replaced the springs.” She kissed him, brushed her breasts against him and felt his hips rise.

“Demelza.” She rose over his body, straddling his cock and eased herself down to sheath him. The heat of his flesh parting the lips of her sex and made her nails dig into his chest. “Jesus, Demelza.” He was helpless now, his hands gripping her hips as she circled them against him. She raised herself up slightly before gathering him back in, undulating as he’d shown her the night before, his eyes shut tight, mouth agape with need. He jerked his head up, watching her as she rose and fell, circled and rocked, drenching him with her body’s dew. “Please,” he begged, “please let me.” He drew her down to cover him, his hips holding hers still as he frantically thrust inside her, her clit dragging up and down against him, driving her towards her climax.

“Ross,” she rasped against his neck, her lips and teeth finding the muscle just above his collarbone and nipped, sucked as he’d liked to do to her, marking him as she came. He gasped and stilled, his hips jerking against her, and she felt him flood her body with his seed.

They lay, unmoving for several moments before she raised her head from his chest. He pulled her in for a kiss, turning them until they were on their sides. “Demelza,” he murmured against her mouth as he brushed it with his. “I do believe I have created something of a hellcat in you.”

She smiled against his lips. “And I believe I may have clawed you, dearest.” They looked down at his chest to find eight half-moon depressions near his nipples. “I don’t think I broke the skin, but I shall check later.”

He kissed her and felt him leave her body as he shifted her leg from his hip, then draw her next to him. He was quiet for a moment before turning to look her in the eyes. “There was another reason I was hesitant to make love with you, today, Demelza,” he said softly. “I’ve a concern about the possibilities of pregnancy. Were not your courses to begin two days ago?”

His tone was very serious. It was true; she was late, something that rarely, if ever, happened. “Is it even possible for that to be the case, Ross? So soon?”

“Of that, I am not certain,” he said. She experienced a brief moment of panic before she paused in her caress of his side. His voice had a whisper of bleakness to it and she willed herself not to be drawn into it. She took a deep breath as the repercussions of what it would mean filled her with the beginnings of joy.

“It is a natural part of our relationship, Ross,” she said simply, looking into his eyes, dark with uneasiness. “We’ve both said that we would welcome children into our marriage.” A troubling thought crossed her mind and she eased away from him. “Or have your reconsidered that?”

He gathered her back against him and kissed her, hard, on the mouth. “No, my dear, not at all.” He stroked her hair and ran his index finger along her cheek to her bottom lip. “The thought of a little girl with your hair and eyes makes me smile, and I hope – one day – to give you as many children as you desire, to love and care for as much as you do Geoffrey Charles. But I would have this happen once we are settled in Washington.”

She blinked incredulously at him. Had he gone mad? “I don’t understand, Ross. Are you proposing we abstain from lovemaking for the next six months?”

He shook his head. “No, not at all, but I do not want you to have to endure a six month journey bouncing across the country by day, sleeping in a bedroll on the ground every night, while you are carrying our child.” He turned her onto her back and rested his hand against her lower abdomen, and her throat closed at the sudden yearning to have a life taking hold deep within her womb, now cradled by its father’s broad hand. “I wish to wait until I’ve had the chance to build you a home and hearth, a place for you to live in comfort as you nurture our child within you, safe and secure.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip, concern shadowing the kernel of happiness that had begun to take root, perhaps along side of their child. “Then what do you propose we do, Ross?”

“Perhaps we can speak with Dwight?”

Her jaw dropped, speechless at the prospect of sharing the intimate details of their relationship with Dwight. Certainly, he was a physician, but he was also their friend! How would she be able to look him in the eye? “You have gone mad, Ross!" she cried. “The only time I would wish him to know anything about our marital relationship would be if I truly was pregnant.”

Demelza shot out of his arms, scrabbling under the pillow for one of the cloths they kept there to tend to themselves after lovemaking. “Demelza,” he said softly, "please wait." He drew her back down against him. "I'm sorry for even suggesting that, my dear." He reached under the pillow and pulled the cloth free. "May I tend to you? Please?" The look in his eyes reminded her that this, too, was one of their rituals, one that she appreciated and cherish. She softened and nodded, lying back against the pillow as he reached between her legs and gently cleaned her woman’s flesh.

She noticed a smear of blood on the rag and felt a twinge, low in her womb. She took it from his hand and folded it. “Well, that’s answered that question, Ross. We’ve naught to be concerned about this month.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again extending my thanks and gratitude to all of you who have left kudos, comments, tweets or tumbles *shrugs* in support of this story. It truly means the world to me, keeps me encouraged and enthusiastic to continue with the tale. Special thanks to my friend and beta rainpuddle13, xxsparksxx, and those of you who have helped me navigate the world of abuse survivorship. I can't do this without you.
> 
> Hitting the trail next chapter!
> 
> Links for reference from this chapter include the following:
> 
>  
> 
> [Covered wagon details](http://www.oregonpioneers.com/wagon.htm)  
> [ How many miles can an ox travel in a day? About 10-15](http://www.ruralheritage.com/messageboard/frontporch/18358.htm)  
> [We need HOW much food? A LOT. Plus supplies. Craziness.](http://www.oregontrailcenter.org/HistoricalTrails/Supplies.htm)


	14. Emigration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Ross reined Seamus in as they reached the crest of the hill overlooking the ferry landing. There, gathered in the large field before him, stood the rolling community that was to become his home for the next six months. Eleven families, thirty lives to be dependent upon each other for protection, camaraderie, and dispute resolution as they made their way across eighteen hundred miles of some of the most forbidding territory known to man. The ramifications had not gone unnoticed as the days before departure had shortened. The responsibilities he now had towards the three other people in his party weighed on him.

He was glad to see there were a number of children who would be a part of what was becoming known as the Poldark-Enys wagon train, since he and Dwight had been the first to sign up with Abraham Graves, the trailmaster for this journey. A resident of the town of Olympia in the Washington Territory, this was his sixth and last time he would lead emigrants to the place he called home. He was as tall as both he and Dwight, bald, strongly built with piercing blue eyes, he spoke often of the wife he had waiting for him, a woman of mixed blood named Annabelle and how much he looked forward to settling down to fish and farm his land.

“Morning, Ross!” Graves called out in greeting. He rode up, bringing his horse, a pretty mare named Clover, next to Seamus. The vestiges of a Scottish accent lingered around the edges of Graves’s voice and Ross found himself enjoying the soft burr a great deal. “Weather’s good for setting off today. Are you ready to get out of this place? You’ve been here a good long while by now.”

Ross nodded. “I am, Abe, but I have to admit the last few weeks here make me wish they’d happened months ago.”

Graves guffawed and slapped Ross on his back. “I do believe I saw the reason for that down there chasing around that nephew of yours,” he grinned, taking a pouch of tobacco out of his pocket and pinching a good amount between his thumb and forefinger before nudging it between his cheek and gum. “She’s a beauty, Ross. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Abe,” Ross said, his eyes scanning the wagons until he came across the one that his wife and the boy would spend most of their time aboard. “Think I’ll go down and say hello.” He waved, drew down the brim of his hat and nudged Seamus into a trot.

Demelza and Geoffrey Charles had spent the last few days painting the sides of wagon a bright blue, the two of them managing to get almost as much paint on themselves as the wagon. He was about halfway there when she came around the corner, cheerfully chatting with her friend Caroline. He could make out the red flash of his wife’s plait as it fell down the centre of her back from under her hat, and remembered running his hand along it as they stepped out of the boarding house for the last time.

_Demelza exchanged tearful hugs with Mrs Sherman, who gave her a basket of fried chicken and peach cobbler for them to enjoy for their dinner. The landlady then turned and fixed him with a beady eye. “You take care of this young gal, you hear me, Mr Poldark?” Ross swallowed and nodded, almost reflexively, before she gathered him in for a hug. He cast a shocked look at his wife, who was doing her best not to laugh out loud. Mrs Sherman released Ross, repeated the gesture with Drake and then squatted to kiss Geoffrey Charles, whom she gave a stuffed dog she’d made from some of her quilting scraps, on the forehead. She rose to her feet and, clasped her hands under her bosom, and gave Ross a final nod. “You’ve been a lovely family to have in my home, and I wish you all the very best, son.” And, with a sob, she disappeared._

Ross was still shaking his head from the memory when he brought Seamus to a stop next to the wagon. “What are you grinning about?” Demelza asked cheerfully, squinting against the sunlight as her hand rose up to block the sun.

“Just thinking of Mrs Sherman’s farewell,” he said, swinging his leg over the horse’s neck and sliding down out of the saddle. He reached for her and dipped his head down low for a kiss. He smiled against her lips: she’d been eating one of her cinnamon candies again. Her eyes sparkled when they separated and he gave her waist a squeeze. “What are you about, young man?” He leaned down and hoisted Geoffrey Charles up onto his hip.

“I was helping Auntie Dede put bells on the wagon!”

Ross opened, then closed his mouth. He glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye before looking at his nephew. “Bells,” he said blankly. Geoffrey Charles nodded enthusiastically then wiggled to scramble down from his uncle’s arm to run off to the other side of the wagon. He turned and looked at his wife, his brows raised with confusion. “Bells, Demelza?”

She nodded. “The Fellows wagon has some, and they had extra,” she admitted. She pointed at the string of bells that decorated the back of the wagon.

“Our wagon is taking on the appearance of one belonging to a tinker, my dear,” he said wryly. “We can’t continue to indulge his every wish, now.”

“I know, Ross, but he was so excited about them, especially after spending some time with Matthew and Susan.” Jacob and Anna Mae Fellows’s two children, Matthew and Susan, were right around Geoffrey Charles’s age and hit it off immediately after the families had gathered early that morning. Jacob was a cooper from Atlanta, Georgia, and was headed to Casper, Wyoming to assume ownership of the local cooperage. He also played the fiddle, which had peaked Demelza’s interest a great deal.

Ross had noticed his wife’s fondness for music within the first few days of their acquaintance. He’d stood outside the nursery door the day before they married when she’d sung a lullaby to Geoffrey Charles before his afternoon nap. She had a clear, strong soprano with hints of a throaty resonance that greatly pleased his ear. He thought about the old pianoforte, along with the other family heirlooms and furnishings he’d had shipped to Seattle from New York, and grinned. He was willing to bet she’d be thrilled with it.

He leaned over and tapped one of the bells and they both laughed. “No harm done, my dear,” he murmured near her ear, drawing her close against him. “Are you alright?”

She blinked up at him. “Yes, Ross,” she said, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?” He felt his cheeks colour and he looked at her pointedly. “Oh. Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She blushed as well, remembering how their morning abed had ended.

“I _am_ very sorry for suggesting we speak with Dwight,” he said softly. He ran his hand up her back and rested his hand along her nape.

“I know you are, dearest,” she murmured. He felt her shiver as his thumb brushed her skin and she leaned in to kiss him. Her lips were soft and gentle against his, yet filled with yearning.

He drew back, cupped her cheek and nodded. “Are we all set?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

“Yes,” she said, breathy, and smiled. “I’ve got the beans soaking for supper and the milk from Miss Spots is in the closed pail on the hook under the side of the wagon.” She grinned up at him. “We will have fresh butter for our cornbread by the time we stop for the night.” Ross’s stomach growled and they both laughed. “If you’re truly hungry, you can have a piece of chicken. It’s in the right hand cabinet.”

“Thank you, my dear.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked over to pull out a drumstick from the basket. “I wonder if you’ll be this contented after you’ve put the beans on to soak and the milk to churn one hundred days from now.”

She giggled. “Care to place a wager, husband?”

He arched a brow and walked back over to her side. “What kind of wager do you have in mind?” He took a bite of the chicken then offered her a nibble. She sank her teeth into the crispy chicken and tore off a bite. Since when did sharing a piece of chicken become close to the most erotic activity imaginable? he wondered. He had the urge to kiss the crumbs off her lips and take her where they stood. He looked at her eyes, only to discover them staring at his mouth with blazing, naked desire and groaned. “I…uh…I-I’ve got to go meet with Graves, Dwight and some of the other men to discuss security,” he said hoarsely, wincing at the tightness of his buckskin trousers. _Think about something else, Ross,_ he thought to himself. “Let Drake handle the oxen today.”

“I _can_ help, you know,” she said, her brows furrowing over jade-green eyes still somewhat hazy from the moment before.

 _Focus!_ “You may need to at some point, but I wish to give the boy some real practice on the trail,” he said, pulling on his gloves to distract himself from the pulse that leapt in her throat. “Let him have the day.”

She nodded, a pretty pout forming on her lips. _What the hell._ He pulled her against him, settling his hips against hers and kissed her, full and deep and relishing the scratch of her nails down the back of his waistcoat, the moan he swallowed from her throat. “And let me know if you need a rest, my dear, all right?”

“Yes, Ross,” she all but whispered, rising on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. “Be safe.”

Ross walked, with difficulty, over to an old oak tree where Grant stood with several of the men from the party. There was an expectation that each of the men would do their fair share of the work to secure the train as they made their way west. This included riding point for at least one hour a day as well as taking part in one of the four two-hour watches during the night. There were eleven able-bodied men to split the watch between them; only one man per day would be stuck with two shifts.

“Ross!” Dwight waved in greeting and motioned him over to where he stood with a tall man with a flowing mane of brown hair, bright blue eyes and a full, ginger beard. “Ross, I want to introduce you to Richard MacGowan, from Glasgow. Richard, my friend Ross Poldark.”

They shook hands and sized one another up. “Dwight’s been telling me a lot about you, Mr Poldark,” Richard said, his brogue making his words almost unintelligible.

“Please, call me Ross,” he said with a smile. “Where are you bound, sir?”

“Going to a wee place called Tenino in the Washington Territory,” the Scot said.

“It’s about twenty miles from Nisqually Valley,” Dwight interjected. “I’ve been trying to talk him into settling up near us.” He cast Richard a side-glance. “He’s a blacksmith.”

“Oh!” Ross said, with interest. He’d been thinking it would be good to have a smithy in the general vicinity of his homestead, which was about ten miles from the nearest smith at the trading post.

Richard laughed. “I’m sorry, mate, but I’ve a brother in Tenino who’s in need of a hand.”

“Blast, well it was worth a try,” Ross said cheerfully. “Which is your wagon, Richard?” The man pointed to a fine looking wagon two behind his own. “Ah! Mine is—”

“—the bright blue one,” Dwight said with a guffaw.

Ross scowled. “Bright blue with _bells_ ,” he said, ruefully then snorted at the looks on his companions’s eyes. “It’s a long story that I hope we can share over some drinks later tonight, does that sound good, gentlemen?” They nodded and turned to face the centre of the circle of men as the meeting came to order.

Twenty minutes later, Ross headed back over to his wagon, quite pleased with his first impressions of the other men on the trail with him. Frederick Jackson, from Chicago, was a tall man with skin the colour of ebony. He and his wife, Effie, and their two children were heading to Bush Prairie, same as they. Several others, including the Andersens from Independence, Missouri and the Penvenens from London were traveling to other locals within the territory, from Vancouver all the way up to Olympia. There were a few families they would say farewell to along the way, including the Fellows-Jefferson party and the Sheehans (to Wyoming and Montana, respectively) as well as others who would head on into Oregon.

Ross looked over towards the Sheehan wagon, positioned three up from his own. Ruairi Michael and his nineteen-year-old bride Eleanor Mary were recently arrived from County Cork in Ireland. She’d given birth during the crossing and they’d only arrived in St Joseph a week before with their six-month-old daughter, Siobhan. Despite the similarities in their ages, , he felt as though the Irish couple were both still children themselves. He’d watched Demelza’s face as she’d cooed over the black-haired baby and had a vivid image of her, heavy with their own child, form in his mind, it made him think about his suggestion to ask Dwight for advice preventing a pregnancy. He admitted it could have been handled with more grace than he’d managed. And even though she’d forgiven him, it still didn’t address the question at hand.

He heard the sound of several whistles and looked to see the men mounting their horses or climbing up onto their wagon seats beside their wives. _No time to think about this now_ , he thought to himself as he dashed over to the back of the wagon where he’d tied off Seamus. He was suddenly so excited that he all but launched himself into the saddle. Dwight even yipped out loud, for heaven’s sake!

Ross grinned at his bride, who graced him with a brilliant smile of her own, a matching smile from her brother as he brought the reins down on the oxen’s backs. “Wagon’s ho!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

They’d managed to put in fifteen miles before the sun touched the horizon when Graves called the train to a stop. Dwight took off his kerchief and mopped his face, craving the chance to strip off his clothes and jump into the creek, but knew it would be a few hours before he could do so. It had been hot and dusty sitting on the wagon bench for most of the day. Ross had spelled him for a couple of hours, giving him the chance to saddle Tahoma and sit high and tall in the saddle. He’d ridden out to take point for a time, breathing in the clean air of the Kansas prairie, happy to finally be returning to the place he’d called home for two years.

Dwight had been hired to serve as physician for the Hudson’s Bay Trading Company and was sent to their post to see to the health and wellbeing of the employees and their families. They’d maintained a tenuous foothold in Nisqually despite the United States acquisition of authority south of the 49th parallel in 1846, but that was changing, and changing soon. Dwight, unbeknownst to Ross, had sent his letter of resignation to the company after learning George Washington Bush and Michael Simmons’ settlement at Bush Prairie was seeking a physician. Dwight had met both Bush and Simmons whilst in Nisqually and found them both to be not only affable gentlemen, but also pioneers in the truest sense of the word. Bush was the first person of African descent to own land in the Washington territories.

Dwight had always found the practice of slavery deplorable. If he had any qualms about his new country it was the shameful tendency for Anglo-Saxon Protestants to denigrate anyone other than themselves. He’d wanted to settle in a place where people were appreciated for the gifts and talents they were able to contribute to the community, regardless of who they were or where they came from. And for Dwight, this included the native peoples who had lived on the land for thousands of years. He’d grown to greatly appreciate the friendships he’d made with the members of the Nisqually and Cowlitz tribes he’d had a chance to make during his time in the Pacific Northwest and looked forward to seeing them again.

His reminiscing came to a halt when he glanced over at the bright blue wagon and saw Ross and Drake hauling out the tent stakes. He trotted over to the area they’d designated for their makeshift corral, hobbled Tahoma next to Seamus for the night and walked over to join his friend. “Ross!”

Ross looked up and raised a hand in greeting. “Dwight! Perfect timing! Give us a hand with the tents?” Ross had procured a large tent to accommodate his family, which required a little extra assistance to wrangle if they hoped to have it erected before midnight. The first time they’d attempted it ended in the three of them collapsed on the ground, laughing until they’d cried. But they’d persevered until they had got the process down to under thirty minutes.

“How was your first day of driving the team, Drake?” Dwight asked, sucking on the thumb he’d mashed with the mallet on the last tent stake.

“Exciting, Dwight,” Drake said happily, his voice cracking a bit. “They did well, but I could tell that Bite was nearly done in by the time we drew up for the night.” Dwight rather liked spending time around Demelza’s brother who could – in an instant – shift from the burgeoning young man whose confidence with the livestock was truly a wonder to see, to the boy that giggled and played so easily with Geoffrey Charles. Dwight was glad to see that Ross truly welcomed this surprise addition to his family.

“You know, that beast is a menace,” Ross grumped as he exited the tent. “I think he truly has it out for me. Remind me again, you were the one who picked him out, Dwight.” He poked Dwight in the centre of his chest. “You did it on purpose.”

Dwight laughed and drew a partially smoked cigar out of his pocket. “Nope. I picked out Belle, because there’s not a sweeter beast on earth.” He lit the cigar and took a leisurely puff. “Bite put up such a fuss when she was being led out of the stable that it just made sense to take him as well.” He nodded at his own tent, still an unassembled heap on the ground. “Fifteen minutes to help me, then we go to see what Demelza’s got on the fire?”

They got the tent up and settled before heading over to the campfire. Demelza had her hair wrapped in a dark blue kerchief and waved cheerfully as they approached. Dwight caught the look of contentment settle in Ross’s gaze and lowered his head to hide his smile. Dwight liked Demelza very much, her kind, playful spirit and the way she’d helped to lift his friend’s spirits up from the near despair they’d been when they’d arrived from England, not to mention the near transformation she’d made in Geoffrey Charles’s life.

“Good evening, gentlemen!” she said, lifting the back of her hand to itch the tip of her nose. “I’ve a wash pan set up on the back of the wagon for you to wash up before supper.” Ross leaned in and gave her a kiss that lingered a little longer than would be considered polite.

Dwight cleared his throat. “What’s for supper?”

They parted and he received a scowl from his friend and a pretty blush from his bride. Demelza snapped a towel at Dwight as he laughed and dipped his hands in the wash pan. “Beans with bacon, cornbread, and some berries we found a little while ago,” she said, pulling the cornbread from the fire and setting it on the box that would serve as their table. “Drake, can you go over and get Geoffrey Charles? He’s with Matthew and Susan Fellows.” Drake nodded and ran over to where the children were playing. “Ross?”

“What is it, Demelza?” he asked. The tone of her voice was troubled. Dwight hurriedly finished washing his hands and shook them dry before re-joining his friends by the fire. He caught the tail end of the conversation. “…openly discouraging the lad?”

“What’s going on?” Dwight asked, a frown forming on his brow.

“The little Jackson boy, Malcolm,” Ross said, scratching his cheek and sending the rasping sound from his sandpapery beard around their heads. “Seems that he hasn’t been invited to play with the other children. Whether this is by choice or through duress is not known.”

Dwight’s frown deepened. To learn of the possible shunning of the Jackson children was not too surprising. Frederick and Effie Jackson were freed blacks Dwight met a month ago when they’d arrived in St Joseph to emigrate. A farmer and labourer by trade, Dwight had encouraged them to consider Bush Prairie, particularly because of the land ownership laws that existed in the territory. Their two children, Jessie and Malcolm were bright and engaging and would thrive there as well. However, when he and Ross had gathered with the other men earlier in the day, Dwight had noticed the low hum of disapproval rumble through them at Frederick’s presence and it had rankled.

He’d wanted to speak with Ross about it but hadn’t had a chance. Until now.

Dwight shared his observations with Ross and Demelza over their supper, and saw matching expressions of grim determination crossing their faces. “I have an idea,” he said, “but it will require the two of you, and the boys, being a part of it.”

“Go on,” Ross said.

“Invite the Jacksons over tomorrow for supper. It will be better to come from another couple, and Ross, you are one of the leaders on this train. You can set the example for others to follow.”

Ross nodded. “Your thoughts on the individuals causing most of the difficulties, Dwight?”

He rubbed his eyes. “If I had to guess?” He glanced over towards the Fellows wagon. “I’ve not spent a lot around them, but the Fellowses and the Thibodauxs are the only families from slave states. And Grant, Mrs Fellow’s brother, has said a few things that make me suspect he’s got issues with blacks.” He then nodded to Leslie Thibodaux’s wagon. “Leslie and Frederick were on watch just after my shift and they seemed to be getting along just fine.”

“Right, then.” Ross blew out a breath and placed his hand on Demelza’s shoulder. “I’m going to go speak with Grant. I’ve no idea how late I’ll be, but Dwight and I have first watch tonight.” He leaned over and brushed her lips with his. “Don’t wait for me to put Geoffrey Charles down for the night, my dear.” They all looked up at the sound of the youngest Poldark’s squeal of delight coming from near the fire, where the children raced around playing tag. Ross grinned and cast his eyes skyward. “IF you can put him down for the night.” He stood and stopped abruptly as a long, lean shadow crossed over Dwight’s crossed ankles. “Oh. Good evening, Miss Penvenen.”

Dwight surged to his feet and pulled the hat from his head. _Jesus, she walked on cat’s feet,_ he thought to himself. The tall, graceful blonde waved a hand. “I thought we had dispensed with the formalities, Ross!” she said brightly. “And who is this?” Her cool blue eyes turned to meet Dwight’s with frank interest.

He nodded. “Ma’am.” He’d heard about the friend Demelza had made whilst they were in St Joseph but had not had the pleasure of meeting her. Ross’s description had not been exaggerated in the least. He’d said she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, with a disconcertingly honest gaze. “Disconcerting” was one way to put it, but to Dwight, it was very forward and downright sensual, especially from an unmarried woman.

She looked like an ice princess, Dwight thought. Straight blonde hair worn in a plaited braid that reached her hips, with eyes a clear, ice blue and long lashed. She wore a lovely pink cotton dress that brought out the rose in her cheeks and lips. Dwight’s preference had always been for the dark haired and eyed, but he’d had to be a dead man not to be drawn to Caroline Penvenen’s beauty.

“Caroline, please let me introduce you to our friend, Dwight Enys,” Demelza said with a smile. Dwight, Miss Caroline Penvenen, recently from London.”

Dwight took the hand she’d raised and bowed over it. “Your servant, ma’am.”

“Mr Enys, we are in America now,” she said. “Let us set aside the rituals of the assembly room whilst we are here on the open range. Please call me Caroline.”

He nodded. “Very well then…Caroline,” he smiled.

“I must go speak with Graves,” Ross said. “I am sorry I will not be able to hear how you and Ray fared on our first day, but I shall rely upon my lovely wife to recount the tale. Good evening, all.” He tipped his hat and strode over to Graves’s tent.

“Did you and your uncle have any difficulties today?” Demelza asked, offering her friend a cup of tea.

“No, thank heavens,” Caroline said with a sigh, “although it was not as comfortable as the trip we made from New York to St Joseph.”

“These wagons are built more for stamina, not comfort, Caroline,” Dwight said. “This is the Oregon Trail, in the truest sense of the word.” Dwight drank his coffee and reached for the pot to pour another.

“Your uncle’s stamina is much more rigorous than I’d originally thought, Caroline, to have managed your team for the day.”

Caroline blinked then laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Oh dear, no. Joshua did.”

Dwight’s hand froze over the handle of the coffee pot and looked at Demelza, who looked as baffled as he. “Who is Joshua?” Dwight asked.

“He’s our bond servant, of course.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Her _what_?”

Demelza shushed Ross, casting an eye towards the back of the tent where Geoffrey Charles and Drake were sleeping, and motioned him out of the open flap. She grabbed the oil lamp, followed his retreating form out and dropped the edge of the canvas.

“Demelza, can you please tell me just what in the hell happened after I left the campfire tonight?” Ross said, his tone and posture radiating exasperation. She closed her eyes and handed him the lamp, wrapping the paisley shawl she’d received from Mrs Sherman that morning around her shoulders. The light from the half-moon set a soft glow across his face, and revealed lines of fatigue that showed around his dark, troubled eyes. “Dwight only spoke three words the entire time we were on watch. The three words he _did_ say? ‘We have slaves.’”

She wished she could put the whole thing off until the morning. As it was, the events that had transpired, not to mention the predicted challenge she’d had to settle Geoffrey Charles down for the night and the low, persistent ache in her lower back that plagued her and shortened her patience with the lad, had been just as tiring for her as the first two-hour watch had to have been for him. She set aside her grumbles as she noticed him massaging his own lower back and wondered what it must be like to spend ten hours in the saddle.

“Can we sit by the fire, Ross?” she asked softly. “I only banked it a few moments ago, so we could rekindle it fairly easily.”

“That sounds wonderful, Demelza,” he said softly and took her hand. She slid her fingers between his, pleased to take some of its warmth into hers. They walked to their fire pit, and Demelza stood next the log they’d used for seating at dinner while he stirred the lingering coals back to flame.

“Sit down, dearest,” she said softly as he turned from the fire. He frowned for a moment but acquiesced, groaning the next moment when she untied the leather thong he used for clubbing his hair. “Better?” she asked as her nails lightly scratched his scalp.

“Oh, God, yes,” he groaned once again, his shoulders shuddering under her caress. He took a deep breath then reached up to still her hands, to draw her around to sit at his feet. He untied the ribbon at the end of her plait and loosened the braid until he was able to sink his fingertips against her scalp. She sighed, leaning her head back until she looked up into his face. “Good evening, Mrs Poldark.”

His voice rumbled low from his chest and it made her close her eyes as the sound washed over her. His thumbs stroked her cheeks and she spun around on her knees, reaching up to pull his mouth down onto hers. She captured his lower lip between hers; nipping and licking its fullness as his hands raced down her back to pull her tight against his body. The hardness of his length pressed against her stomach, his hips undulating against her, easing some of the tension she’d carried in her womb throughout the day. She wished…oh, how she wished they could make love, but knew it could not be, not for several days at least.

She pressed her hands against his chest as he lifted his head to gaze down into her eyes. “Demelza,” he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. “My dear Demelza.”

“I missed you,” she said softly, kissing his cheek before resting her head against his shoulder.

“I missed you too,” he murmured, his hands continuing their caress of her back. “How are you feeling?”

She looked up at him. “I am all right, although I was in more discomfort than I thought I would have been.” His brow furrowed in concern. He shifted over on the log and drew her up to sit next to him. “I walked for a little while, which helped, then rested with Geoffrey Charles for a couple of hours.”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Do we need to slow down for tomorrow?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, the first day is usually the worst.” He eyed her skeptically. “I promise I will let you know if that should change.” She huffed out a breath, a blush rising to her cheeks. “Honestly, Ross, it’s something I can cope with, so please don’t worry overmuch.”

“All right, Demelza,” he said. He blew out a breath then gathered her close. “Now, what happened after I left our fire?”

She told him. _“He’s our bond servant, of course,” Caroline said._

 _Demelza blinked with shock at her friend’s words. “Your_ what _?”_

_“Bond servant,” Caroline said, nonplussed by the expression on her face. “Joshua and his wife Betsy were hired to assist us on this trip. You’ve had the chance to meet my uncle, Ray, Demelza,” she said, a laugh tinkling around the edge of voice. “He is in delicate health. We needed help to tend to his needs, as well as the cooking and laundry.”_

_“And Joshua?” Demelza asked._

_“He’s to do the heavy work, help with the laundry and, more importantly, handle the wagon.” Caroline looked from Demelza to Dwight. Demelza had completely forgotten he had been listening to Caroline’s tale alongside her._

_“But they are bonded to you, Miss Penvenen?” Dwight’s voice was reedy with what Demelza thought was rage. She’d never thought to see his normally handsome, affable countenance as furious as it was in that moment. “They are not free to leave your employ, is that correct?”_

_“Y-Yes, Mr Enys, that’s what the contr—” Dwight surged to his feet. “But, I don’t understand!”_

_“I need to meet up with Ross for watch,” he snapped before turning to Demelza. “Thank you for supper, Demelza. Good night.”_

“…And then he spun on his heel and stormed off.”

“Did she say anything else?” Ross asked, clearly baffled by the events of the evening.

“Only that they were hired to provide these services in exchange for taking them to Bush Prairie,” she said, touching his thigh. “You should speak to Caroline for the details, but, Ross, it’s not so different than what I had to do to come to you.”

He covered her hand with his. “Demelza, the difference between you and them is you had a choice to leave that train at any time. It would have been difficult, and God only knows what you and Drake would have to have done to survive.” He brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “But Joshua and his wife? If they were to try it, they could be jailed or worse: captured and sold into slavery. Just because of the colour of their skin.”

He smiled grimly and stood, arching his back in a bone-cracking stretch before offering her his hand. “There’s nothing more to be done about it tonight. I’ll speak with Caroline in the morning. Let’s go to bed, my dear.”

“Ross,” she murmured, stopping him before he kicked dirt onto the fire.

“Yes, Demelza?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern once again.

She laid her hands against his chest. “I’ve been thinking, and I wonder if I may have been too hasty in discounting your suggestion.”

He frowned, confused. She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Ross.”

Realization dawned and his eyes darkened. “About asking Dwight for advice?”

She nodded, nestling against him and sighed when she felt his arms circle her waist. “He’s a good friend to us.” She looked up at her husband’s handsome face. “And if you trust him enough to ask, then I-I will, too.”

“Thank you.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her. “Come to bed, cinnamon girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks and gratitude to all of you who have given me your kudos and comments, either here or on twitter or tumblr. It truly makes all the difference in keeping me enthusiastic about sharing this tale with you. Muchos gracias to my beta, rainpuddle13, vickymaus who drew the fantastic artwork I've used for tumblr and twitter posts, and all of you who I've reached out to for your input. Thank you thank you


	15. Kansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

“’Morning, Dwight.”

Dwight turned to find Ross walking up to their wagon, two cups of coffee in his hands. “’Morning, Ross.” His voice was sandpaper rough from lack of sleep, which would make the day difficult. “Coffee is exactly what I need.”

“What you need is more sleep,” Ross chortled, handing him the cup. “Are you going to be all right handling the wagon?”

Dwight sipped the brew and found it to be very strong and rich. “Another couple cups and I’ll be fine.” He looked up at his friend. “I suppose you heard about what happened.”

“Yes, bu—”

“—Slaves, Ross!” he growled. “How is it possible that we are traveling to a place founded by a man of colour with _slaves_ in tow?”

“We do _not_ have slaves on this train,” Ross snapped, raising a hand to still Dwight’s retort. “They are bond servants. There is a difference, Dwight.” Ross proceeded to tell him what had happened at their campfire after he’d stormed off. “I went over to the Penvenen camp this morning to meet the Robinsons and ask them for their side of the tale, which was confirmed. They are in the Penvenens’s employ in exchange for their passage to Bush Prairie. They were granted their manumission papers upon Edmund Robinson’s passing.” He paused, distaste clearly discernable in his countenance. “Their late…master.”

Dwight frowned, raising his free hand to scratch absently at the back of his head. “So, they are freed slaves, under contract.”

Ross nodded, finishing his coffee and extending his hand for Dwight’s. “You done?”

He shook his head. “I’ll go see if Demelza will have mercy on me and give me another cup.” He drank the last and pursed his lips. “And then make my way over to the Penvenens’s.”

“Good man. I’ll come give you a break on the wagon after dinner,” Ross assured him, clapping Dwight on his shoulder. The two men turned in the direction of the bright blue wagon. “Who knows? Geoffrey Charles _might_ allow you to catch a little shut-eye in his cubby.” Dwight laughed and Ross flashed a smile that faded rather suddenly. “There’s another matter I should like to discuss with you.”

Dwight stopped to look at his friend. “Something serious?”

“No, nothing like that, at least not of immediate import,” Ross assured him. “It’s advice I seek, but it will keep until then.”

 

Demelza was happy to give Dwight more coffee, and a bowl of fried eggs, cornmeal mush, bacon, and something she called vinegar lemonade. Made from a splash of apple cider vinegar, sugar, and water, she’d heard it would help prevent scurvy.

‘Where on earth did you hear that, Demelza?” he asked, grimacing at the taste. He looked at Drake and Geoffrey Charles, who were both frowning with dislike.

“Mrs Lockett’s husband, Ephram, the apothecary,” she answered confidently. She stirred another cup of the brew to hand to her husband, who looked from the cup to her and up to Dwight before plucking it from her hands. Her brows snapped together and she flicked a glance at the boys. Ross sighed and tossed the liquid back as if he were taking a shot of bourbon.

One of the things Dwight truly appreciated about his friend was the motility of his facial expressions. Ross appeared to be fairly taciturn most of the time, but he could become the very definition of joy, fury and sorrow in some of his unguarded moments. In all their years of friendship, Dwight had never seen the expression Ross’s face reflected upon tasting the ‘lemonade’. “Sweet Mother of Christ, Demelza, you expect us to drink this shite every day, for the next one hundred and seventy eight days?”

“Yes, Ross,” she stated, simply.

“I will not,” he declared.

The boys snorted with snickers that were silenced in a thrice by Demelza’s steel glare. “I’ll be…er… off now,” Dwight muttered, hiding a smile as he looked at the twin expressions of stubborn determination that he saw on their faces, and set his cup down. He raised his voice. “How long before we set off for the day, Ross?”

Ross glanced up from the staring contest he was having with his wife, and then pulled his pocket watch out from his waistcoat. “Half-past eight. You’ve twenty minutes.”

“Right.” He slipped his hat onto his head and touched the brim with his finger. “Thank you for the breakfast, Demelza.”

“Always welcome, Dwight,” she responded, glancing at him from the corner of her eye before returning her gaze to her husband. Dwight beat a hasty retreat.

As he crossed the hard-packed earthen diameter of the camp, he wondered just how to approach the situation he was about to encounter. He’d only met Caroline Penvenen last night, had never been introduced to her uncle, and here he was, about to ask them some rather pointed questions about something that, technically, was none of his business. Except, it truly was. He had to know the nature of the Robinsons’s relationship with this woman and her uncle. He could not tolerate injustice in any form, and was not concerned about letting his opinion on the matter be known, regardless of their standing or politics.

As he approached, he saw a pretty young black woman at the rear of the wagon, setting the breakfast utensils and pans into a box for storage. She was petite, with her hair wrapped in a vivid purple turban that complimented her warm toffee-coloured skin. Dwight rushed over as she bent to pick it up. “Excuse me, may I assist you with that?” he called.

She glanced up, her brown eyes widening in what looked like shock and a little fear. “No, sir, no, sir, I’s can handle it, sir,” she stammered, a tremor in her voice.

Dwight reached her side just as a tall and muscular black man, with skin the colour of ochre and deep golden-brown hair, worn in longish ropes to his shoulders, stepped around the back of the wagon. “Betsy? What’s the matter?” He stopped short when he saw Dwight and reached out to pull the young woman close to his side. “Somethin’ I can help you with, mister?”

Dwight shook his head. “Please, I beg your pardon, but I was only going to assist your wife with the crate.” He held out his hand. “I’m Dwight Enys. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr….” he said, trailing off in hopes to be introduced.

The man frowned at the extended hand, but hesitantly reached out to grasp it in a firm grip. “Robinson, sir. Joshua Robinson and this is my wife, Elizabeth. Pleased to meet you, Mr Enys.”

“As am I, Mr Robinson,” Dwight agreed, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. He did, however, notice Joshua squirming uncomfortably at being addressed by his surname. “I only learned of your presence in our train last night.” Dwight glanced around their camp for a sign of Caroline. “Is Miss Penvenen available, perchance?”

“Yes, sir,” Betsy replied. “I’ll get her.” She bobbed a curtsey and darted out of sight.

Dwight swallowed, not knowing how to proceed. “You are… being treated well by your…employers, I take it, Mr Robinson?”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” Joshua cocked his head in confusion. “Mr Enys, you are the second person to ask about the treatment me and my wife are receiving from the Penvenens in less than eight hours.” He frowned. “May I ask you why you are here, sir?” he asked, crossing his strong forearms over his chest.

Dwight blew out a breath. “I believe I owe Miss Penvenen an apology for jumping to a conclusion about your presence on the train,” he admitted. “And please, call me Dwight.”

Joshua shook his head. “No, sir. Can’t do that.”

“You see?” Dwight sighed, slapping his hand on his thigh in frustration. “That is the problem.” He regarded the young man, who stared back at him with eyes the same colour as his own. “I love my adoptive country, but I despise what it has done to people of your ancestry, Mr Robinson. And you are traveling to a place where people are seen for more than just the colour of their skin. Where it would be perfectly acceptable for you to call me Dwight.”

“I understand that, sir,” Joshua acknowledged, matter-of-factly. “And once we are there, I will be happy to address you as you request.” His eyes hardened. “But not until then.”

Dwight frowned, but nodded. “As you wish, sir,” he said grimly. “I do hope this…divide, for lack of a better word, won’t keep you from considering further developing our acquaintance, Mr Robinson.” Joshua flinched again. “You may be unable to address me as Dwight, but I have no such restrictions from addressing you as Mr Robinson, Joshua.”

He exchanged a stubborn stare with the young man until he nodded. “Point taken, Mr Enys.”

“So, you and your wife are bound for Bush Prairie, the payment of your journey being arranged under the Penvenens’s employ?”

Joshua nodded. “Yes, sir. Once we reach the prairie we will be able to part company from the Penvenens, who will continue on to Olympia.” He looked up as footsteps approached and Betsy Robinson returned with Caroline, gowned in pale blue that matched her eyes. “Miss Penvenen, this gentleman is here to see you, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Joshua, Betsy,” Caroline said coolly. “Please finish breaking camp. We’ll be leaving shortly.” The Robinsons nodded and curtseyed before casting one last look at Dwight, and then left. “Good morning, Mr Enys.” She looked down her long, patrician nose in distain. “I see you’ve had a chance to meet Joshua and Betsy. I assume any concerns that you were leading a slave train across the west have been assuaged?”

Dwight removed his hat and felt his cheeks redden under the onslaught of her words. He met her eyes directly and held her gaze for several seconds. “Miss Penvenen, I owe you an apology.”

She blinked. “Well, y-yes, you do, Mr Enys,” she said, surprise clear in her eyes.

“I jumped to the worst of conclusions and failed to give you an opportunity to elaborate on the nature of their employ,” he went on. “I ask for your forgiveness, and to be given an opportunity to share a little more about my reasons for doing so.”

She blinked again and nodded.

“Perhaps I may have the honour of taking you for a walk after supper this evening?”

She paused for several seconds. “Well…yes, that would be fine, Mr Enys,” she said, sounding a little dazed in her tone.

“Excellent,” he smiled, reaching for her hand and kissing her knuckles. “I shall call upon you around eight o’clock then?” She nodded dumbly. “Until then, Miss Penvenen.”

He turned and walked back to his wagon, a small grin forming across his face. _What a charmer you are, Enys._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross eyed the position of the sun in the sky and estimated they would be stopping for the night within the hour. And, sweet Jesus was he glad about that. He’d taken the reins of the larger wagon after dinner to give Dwight a chance to get a little sleep, but before that he’d had a chance to ask him for his advice. What followed was a slightly ribald, mostly uncomfortable conversation between two men who’d known one another for many years and now knew more about one another than they’d ever figured they would.

Through his guffawing smugness, Dwight had offered up several ideas, including the one Ross felt the least intrusive. Now, all he had to do was share the information with his new wife. _Judas._

He looked up the line and noticed his wife walking along side their own wagon and chatting with Helen MacGowan. She turned her head and waved, a brilliant smile shining on her face. She leaned close to Helen, said a few words then turned in his direction. He slowed the oxen to draw up next to her and leaned down to offer her his hand. “Hello, my dear!” She leaned in for a quick kiss before settling beside him. He smiled and slapped the reins down on the team’s backs to get them moving forward once again. “How are you faring today?”

“Much better than yesterday, Ross,” she quipped, adjusting her hat to shield the sun. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, her breast pressing soft and warm on his tricep. “I’ve walked for the last two hours.”

He looked at her in surprise and was rewarded with her sunny giggle. “I hope your feet aren’t too sore this evening,” he said softly.

“Would you be willing to rub them for me?” she asked prettily.

He smiled. “Perhaps.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and they rode in companionable silence for some time before she spoke. “Ross, can I ask you something about Geoffrey Charles?”

“Yes, of course,” he nodded, a frown creasing his brow. “He hasn’t been misbehaving, has he?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that,” she assured him. “This is the third time he’s wet the bed at night,” she confided. “Has he ever had difficulties with this before?”

Ross nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Shortly after the death of his parents. It happened almost nightly for several weeks.”

“I suspect it’s due to the change in his circumstances,” she pondered out loud. “It happened very soon after we married, and again last night, our first night on the trail.”

Ross reached down and squeezed her hand before returning his attention to the reins. “Do you have any suggestions for what we should do?” he asked.

“The same thing happened with two of my brothers after Ma died,” she acknowledged. “We’ll need to keep him from drinking liquids in the evenings, and I’ll try waking him in the middle of the night to have him use the pot,” she instructed.

“I can do that, Demelza,” he offered. “I’ll get him up when I come in from watch.”

“That’s an excellent idea, Ross, thank you,” she smiled, giving his arm a squeeze. He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Several more moments of quiet passed before he noticed the fingers of her free hand pleating and unpleating her skirt. “Is there something on your mind, my dear?”

“Well…yes,” she hedged. “Oh, all right. Did you have a chance to speak with Dwight?”

Ross felt colour rise in his cheeks. “Er… yes, I did.” He looked at her from the corner of his eye, realizing she was waiting expectantly for him to continue. “Let’s talk about that tonight, after supper.” She looked at him through her lashes, clearly disappointed in his answer. Still, she nodded and, snuggling back against him, leaned her head against his shoulder and fell asleep.

 

“So, Dwight said we should try right after?” Demelza asked as they strolled along the riverside. They’d had a lovely supper of rabbit stew, courtesy of Helen MacGowan’s husband, Richard, who had shot several during their travels that afternoon. The boys were asleep and the camp had gone quiet for the night.

“Yes, he indicated the chances of your conceiving would probably be at its lowest in the days immediately following,” he confirmed, halting their progress and taking her in his arms.

“But for how many days?” she blurted, then covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes looking up at him with horror. Ross barked with laughter as she buried her face against his chest. “Oh, how that must have sounded!” Her voice was muffled and distorted by all of the obstructions in its way, but he’d heard her clear enough.

“Demelza,” he murmured, shifting her away from him then tilting her chin up to look into her eyes. “It does my heart good to know you want me as much as I want you.” She smiled up at him, despite her lingering embarrassment. “Five days,” he whispered, kissing her softly and shivering as her arms slipped around his neck to draw him closer. They’d been so tired after their first day on the trail that they’d all but collapsed into slumber with barely a kiss the moment their heads hit the pillow. This was the first opportunity they’d had for a moment of tenderness and they wasted no time in the doing. Their kiss became lush and supple as he leaned her back, his hand cupping her breast with urgency. She stopped, her fingers flying down the buttons of her shirtwaist so he could touch her, feel the nipple come to life under the stroking of his thumb through her shift. He brought her close, his arm tight against her hips, felt her squirming against him as he kneaded her softness.

“Ross,” she breathed against his throat, her tongue snaking out to lick the hollow of his throat. “Salty, so good.”

He groaned. “Sweetheart, we must stop.” His voice wheezed from a throat constricted by need. “You’ve several more days yet. Before…” She nodded against his chest, her fingers running over the pebbles of his own nipples and making him grit his teeth. He pressed her hands tight against his chest with his own to still their movement. “Then let us be patient, or as patient as we can be until the time is right.”

She sighed heavily, re-buttoning her blouse before raising her head. Her eyes were the colour of the stormy Cornish sea in the moonlight and filled with yearning. “Just because I can’t doesn’t mean you can’t,” she whispered, clasping his hand in hers and turning back towards their tent, where the buffalo robes awaited them. And he went gladly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Demelza picked up the oil lamp she’d left on the ground near the tent flap. Ross reached over her shoulder to take it from her, easing the heavy canvas aside for them to pass through. They entered the gloom of their home away from home and made a final check on the boys. Drake and Geoffrey Charles slept peacefully on their palette on the opposite side of the makeshift room divider Ross had fashioned by throwing a spare blanket across a rope bisecting the space.

Demelza smiled at the sleeping boys, particularly the newest one to capture her heart. She loved her new nephew as if he were her own child, much in the same way she loved her brother. She wasn’t surprised at how quickly it had happened, but she was fairly amazed at the boy’s willingness to consider her to be his parent and guardian, as he did Ross. The presence of the other children had much to do with Geoffrey Charles’s mood, and it filled her with joy to see him running about with Matthew and Susan Fellows as well as little Malcolm Jackson. She knew the lad still had moments where grief for his late parents would visit him and turn him quiet and moody, but rather than isolate himself he would usually come to her, slip his little hand into hers or press against her side.

She now felt the other Poldark lean against her, but the weight of his body against hers filled her with baser needs and instincts. She turned to slide her arms around Ross’s neck as his mouth slashed down upon hers. The small tendrils of hair escaping his tail felt like silk against her fingers, the back of his neck slightly damp from perspiration. He purred against her mouth, kissing her as if he was sampling a ripened peach. He nipped her bottom lip, drawing back with it still between his teeth and released it with a pop before they turned to their bed.

Two buffalo robes and a sheet provided the only padding they had between them and the hardened earth under the ground cloth, and they were grateful for it. Mrs Sherman had given them the quilt they’d had in their room at the boarding house, but Demelza kept that packed away safe and sound for them to use when they arrived in Washington. Two rough woollen blankets and the top sheet kept them warm enough.

They knelt on the bed, Ross pulling the pins from the low bun Demelza wore at the back of her head, his fingers fluffing the locks free. She purred as he pressed the pads of his fingertips along her scalp. She’d missed this the night before, and promised herself they wouldn’t skip this or the other things they’d grown accustomed to doing for one another before bed unless absolutely necessary.

Soon enough, it was her turn to free his hair from its club. The long, black strands curled wildly around his head and she gave his scalp a vigorous scratch, which made him hiss and moan almost loud enough to wake the boys, and earning him a shush and a pinch. They laughed and continued to disrobe in silence, broken by the sound of kisses, rustling clothes and the occasional sigh. They slipped between the sheets and blankets. “I should have washed,” Ross rumbled, settling in next to her.

His nude body was so warm against her, and fragrant from his labours. “Wood smoke, Seamus, leather, sweat and you,” she sighed, breathing him in. “You never need to apologize for that, Ross. You are a hard-working man” She pressed a kiss to his nipple, her tongue flicking out against the diamond-hard pebble of flesh rising from his furry chest. “You’re _my_ hard-working man.”

“Demelza,” he whispered, the resonance of his tone deep in his chest making her catch her breath. He shuddered and relaxed in her arms, drawing her face up to his to press kisses along her hairline, cheek and chin before capturing her mouth with his. They both shuddered as their tongues mated and legs twined together. His hand cupped and caressed her breast through the thin fabric of her shift, the nipple rising at his caress. His arms gathered her close as he shifted them, pressing her back into the cushion of the robes. She felt a sliver of panic stir in her stomach, and she crushed it ruthlessly in her mind, moving until she lay under him, his thigh pressed tight against her. He reached to lower the neckline of her shift to bare her breast for his mouth and tongue to suckle and lick. She cursed the swaddled padding she was forced to wear, but she ground against his leg despite of it to relieve some of the desire that pulsed deep within her.

His hand reached for the hem of her shift, which was ruched halfway up her thigh when she stopped him. “We can’t, remember? Not tonight, Ross,” she said, regret monstrous in her chest. “Maybe tomorrow, if we’re careful.” She nudged him until he lay on his back, reached down and gathered him in her hand. “Let me?” His cock jerked and thrust against her palm, making her feel bold and powerful. “Please?”

“You don’t have to,” he rasped, his body responding to her entreaty despite his words. She stroked him with more deliberation, eliciting a groan he stifled against his forearm. She loved the strength of him, of the thighs that trembled with each stroke, the sight of his chest heaving as he drew in breath after anguished breath. She shifted the bedclothes down, leaving them both exposed to the crisp night air. She watched as gooseflesh prickled his skin, raising the hairs along his arms and thighs, and noticed it streak across her own arms. Her nipples were taut, her breasts aching for his touch, his lips and teeth to taste once again, but her time would come, she knew. She slipped between his legs, replacing her hand with her mouth, her tongue tasting the pearls of his seed that seeped from him as his mind ceased to govern his body, and instinct took hold. The springy black hair surrounding his cock and covering his balls was pungent, rich of his scent and she released him, stroking her cheek and burying her nose against him, her tongue licking the wrinkled skin of his scrotum before recapturing his cock with her mouth. His movements became more desperate, losing the fluidity he’d displayed earlier, and she knew he would not last much longer. And she wanted him to come, to give her his seed, to taste the bittersweet essence of him.

His hips rose and fell once, twice, and then froze. She laid her palm against his hollowed belly as he trembled and reached his end, tortured moans escaping from under the forearm he’d held over his mouth. His seed seared the back of her throat and coated her tongue. Her nails grazed his abdomen and she felt the quivers of the skin and muscles underneath her fingertips as the last of his semen left him.

She released him gently; the sight of his softening cock, wet with her saliva and pulsing from its labours stirred her and filled her with satisfaction. She kissed his belly nearest his navel before drawing the bedclothes back up and over them. His breathing eased its way back towards normal and his arms gathered her against him while he murmured words of thanks and gratitude against the cloud of her hair. She stroked and petted his chest, nuzzling close and taking her pleasure in seeing him satiated, for now.

 

The next morning, Demelza stirred the cornmeal mush she’d finished cooking and ladled it into the five wooden bowls they used for breakfast. “Drake, can you tend to the bacon please?” she called in the direction of the tent. She hadn’t seen hide or hair of her brother all morning, which was strange because he was usually up and about early to milk the cows and check on the rest of the livestock before breakfast. She frowned, and then went over to the cast iron skillet on the fire to flip the fragrant meat before it burned. “Drake!” she shouted, her hands fisted on her hips.

“What is it?” a voice came up behind her. She whirled to find her brother, looking disquieted and failing to meet her eyes.

“Drake, I’ve been calling you to help me with breakfast for the last ten minutes!” she said, frustration clear in her voice. “And why in blazes won’t you look at me?” She ducked and dodged her head around in an effort to catch his attention.

“Just tell me what you need,” he sassed.

She blew out a breath. “Take this and turn the bacon once more, then pull it out and put it on the plate when it’s finished,” she snapped. He flicked a blue-green glare at her, snatched the long-handled fork from her hand and shuffled over to the campfire. She was in the act of sticking out her tongue at him when her husband came around on her other side. “Judas!” she squeaked, jumping. Ross reached out to grab her arm to keep her from tripping over her own feet. He gave her a quick kiss, then frowned when he looked over at his brother-in-law. “Whatever is amiss, Ross?” she said, completely baffled at her brother’s attitude.

“Drake and I had a bit of a discussion,” her husband said, somewhat cagily.

She turned her confused gaze back towards Ross, her own brows furrowing with concern. “About what?”

“About last night, my dear,” he murmured, and his cheeks grew red. “We…well, we were not as quiet as we’d hoped we’d been.”

Demelza’s confusion cleared in an instant, only to be replaced with a wave of embarrassment that made her dizzy enough to be grateful for Ross’s support. “Sweet Lord above,” she muttered, cradling her face in her hands as memories of what had passed between she and her husband the night before. She parted her fingers to peek out at her brother, who was dutifully pulling pieces of very crispy bacon from the skillet. He flicked a glance in her direction and turned the shade of a ripe tomato before returning to his work. “What… What am I to say to him?”

Ross shook his head and gathered her close. “Not a thing, unless he asks you about it.” She leaned against him, partly fearing that Drake would do precisely that: confront her about it, and praying he wouldn’t. “I’m not about to let the wounded sensibilities of a twelve-year-old boy stand in the way of my getting to know my new wife, even if he is her brother.”

“Oh, Ross,” she clucked, slapping her hand lightly on his chest. “Easy for you to say, since you’ll be out on Seamus all day. I’ve got to sit next to him in the wagon!”

Ross chuckled. “He’ll get over his embarrassment at some point today, there’s too much to be done to spend time grousing about this.” He kissed her. “It _has_ pointed out the fact that we need to come up with another alternative to allow us some privacy. And I think I have just the thing.”

 

Days passed into weeks as the twelve wagons crossed the Kansas countryside, passing seas of prairie grass and night skies filled with stars. Twice they were hampered by thunderstorms, with air filled with the smell of ozone and sheets of rain unlike any many of the travellers had ever experienced before. And, for many, the excitement that had filled the early days of their journey had begun to dull to the tedium of living on the trail: the bone-aching exhaustion in the evenings from all the walking or riding, the simplicity and repetition of their meals, the never-ending vigilance required to keep an eye out for bandits or hostile Indians. Still, it was amazing how a pretty fiddle tune from Mr Fellows, or one of Mr Thibodaux’s stories could ease the piques and annoyances of their everyday lives, even if it were just for a moment.

Over the course of time, friendships deepened as they would between peoples encountering challenging situations together and this was true for many of the families in their wagon train. And while the Poldark-Carnes and Dwight Enys were considered the hub of the community and on companionable terms with all, they had developed a favoured bond with Richard, Helen and Glenn MacGowan.

One evening, three weeks into their journey, the MacGowans had come to call upon the Poldark-Enys campsite as they were finishing their supper and shared a dried apple crisp Demelza had made for dessert. The men had spent time much of the afternoon together on security, and were becoming closer by the moment, thanks to the keg of bourbon they’d inaugurated an hour ago. Ross had assured her there would be no overindulgences since Richard had the first watch for sentry duty.

Demelza had liked Richard almost immediately upon meeting him. His soft Glaswegian burr conjured images of wild Scottish highlanders she’d heard about from some of the ladies she’d met while on the ship to America, while his calm blue eyes and frequent smiles had eased her initial insecurity around him. Richard had a large, muscular frame, very similar to Colin’s, and she’d suffered a moment of panic when she’d seen the Scot in shadow as the wagons were loading onto the ferry in Missouri. Until she’d seen his knees, that is. Richard wore a belted kilt in his family’s tartan every day and his long brown hair in a plait that reached the centre of his back.

Demelza often wondered what Ross would look like in such a kilt. It was, indeed, a delightful image to picture.

Drake and Glenn soon took Geoffrey Charles over to the large campfire where Mr Thibodaux was telling stories. Helen gathered her things and joined Demelza by the river to finish the last of their laundry before it grew too dark.

Helen was a pixie of a woman, with thick, dark auburn hair and eyes the colour of cornflowers. Demelza suspected the woman was a somewhat older than herself, but her cheerful manner and enthusiasm about their journey made her seem younger than her years. It was also clear that she adored the tall, handsome Scot she called her husband.

They’d been at the riverside for nearly an hour when Helen stood to shake out a pillowcase to wash, paled, and almost collapsed. “Helen!” Demelza called out, catching her by the arm and helping her over to the rocks nearest the river to have a seat. “Shall I get your husband?”

Helen waved a hand. “No! No… I’ll be fine,” she assured Demelza, pulling a handkerchief from the inside of her sleeve. “Would you mind getting this a little damp from the river, Demelza? If I can press it against the back of my neck I’ll be fine.”

Demelza nodded and took the cloth over to the edge of the riverbank to dip in the cool water, then returned to her friend, wringing the excess liquid from the material and handing it to Helen. “Are you certain I shouldn’t go get Richard?”

Helen blotted the handkerchief against her neck. “No, dear, it’s already passed.” She shook out the material and, after folding it neatly into a square, tucked it back into her sleeve. “It’s happening every day now.”

Helen rested her hand on her stomach and Demelza’s eyes widened. Some of the things she’d noticed about her friend in recent days began to make sense: how wan she was in the mornings as well as her peculiar penchant for pickled eggs. “How far along are you, Helen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A little less than three months,” Helen confided, returning to where she’d dropped the last of her washing. “We’ve only been married a year, and had hoped not to start a family until after we’d got resettled, but…” She paused, the look of expectant joy that crossed the woman’s face made Demelza’s breath still in her lungs. “I never expected to marry, if truth be told. So I feel as though I’ve been given a second chance on a life I’ve always wanted.”

“Richard is a lucky man,” Demelza said, touching her new friend’s shoulder. She bit her lip. “Are you afraid, Helen?”

She swallowed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Helen paused. “Have you and your husband spoken about this?”

“Yes, rather unsuccessfully at first, but we’ve managed to discuss it,” Demelza admitted, “We are planning to wait until we reach Washington. We hope.” The first test of whether that would be the case should be proven in the next few days. They’d followed Dwight’s advice – that and a small tent for the two of them to use for privacy – and restricted themselves to indulging in their lovemaking for a few days after Demelza’s courses had stopped. “Does Richard know?”

Helen shook her head. “Oh no, not yet.” She laid her hand over her stomach once again. “He’d never have agreed to leave on this train if he knew, and his brother is in desperate need of his help. If we’d waited, we wouldn’t have been able to leave until next year.”

“He will need to know soon, Helen,” Demelza advised gently. “Especially if you’re feeling faint more and more often.”

“Oh, I know,” she affirmed. “One more week and we’ll be too far to turn back, so I’ll tell him then.”

“Tell who what, Mo ghràidh?” a soft burr sounded behind them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your support, kudos and comments! I really enjoy hearing from you, what you think about the story and the characters that you're meeting. The MacGowans are ones to watch, as my friend rainpuddle13 has taken a special affinity for them, so you may be seeing an accompanying story about their journey in the days and weeks to come. Give her some encouragement, won't you? 
> 
> Want to try making the vinegar lemonade? [Here's the recipe!](http://personal.my180.net/thesmiths/oregontrailrecipes.html) Bottom of the page. It's... not pleasant.


	16. By the Big Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some...potentially triggery stuff that happens in this chapter. Tread carefully and if you want to know specifically what happens, drop me a DM on twitter @mmmusings or on tumblr @mmmuses.

“Dwight?” Richard called to the tall, blond man wrestling with the canvas tent at his feet and lengthened his stride. “D’ya have a moment to speak with me?”

Dwight smiled at him and waved. “Of course, Richard,” he said, and nodded his head at Ross, who heaved tent stakes into the wagon before turning to acknowledge the Scot. “We’re on first patrol this morning, if you’ve the need for more privacy.”

Richard shifted his weight on his feet, considering. “No, no that’s alright,” he decided. “There is a good possibility what I need to speak with you about will directly impact Ross as well, so it will spare me the retelling of the tale if I share it with you both at once.”

The men frowned and nodded. “What can I do for you, Richard?” Dwight asked.

Richard remembered the conversation he’d had with his wife the night before with ease, having relived it over and over in his mind until the wee hours of the morning. _“Helen?” Richard murmured, his eyes roving over his wife’s pretty face, her deep auburn hair glowing in the sunset. “Is something amiss?” Her face was pale, her eyes dark with worry._

_“N-no, nothing is amiss.” She set the last piece of laundry in the basket and walked over to his side. “Just something I don’t think you’ll be too pleased about.”_

_“But you said it would be too late to turn back,” he said, his hands capturing her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. “What could possibly have me asking to turn…”_

_He looked at her again and the realization hit him low in his gut. Her bountiful breasts, so tender the last time they’d made love, the fatigue that seemed to strike her earlier in the evenings than ever before, and the absence of her courses, always irregular, but non-existent for many weeks now. “Shite.” She lowered her eyes. His hands tightened reflexively before relaxing their grip for fear of bruising her tender skin. “How far, hen?”_

_She raised her eyes and a tear ran down her cheek. “Almost three months, Richie,” she whispered, swiping at the tears absently. Richard’s stomach jumped, unsettled, the bourbon he’d so contentedly shared with his new friends burning in its depths. She touched his chest, ran her small hand across its breadth and stepped close against him. “What are you thinking, love?”_

_He would never tell her the first thing he’d thought of when she’d confirmed the news was the sight of his late wife, Joan, lying dead in their bed, having suffered a massive haemorrhage following the birth of their stillborn daughter nearly two years before. He’d feared this more than anything else since he’d married his best friend’s sister in a handfasting of convenience that had grown into the deepest love he’d ever known as they’d made their way from Scotland to the Great Plains of the Americas._

It didn’t scare you enough to keep your goddamn hands off her, did it, you _sean-dhruisire. Dirty old man, indeed._

_“Oh, I worry for you, mo ghràidh,” he confessed, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the crown of her head. “This journey will be so difficult, with us sleeping on the ground, and you sitting in that wagon with very little in the way of comfort. The weather, which we’ve already seen can be brutal.”_

_“We had to leave, Richie,” she countered, nuzzling against him before raising her soulful blue eyes to meet his concerned bluish-grey ones. “Arthur needs you in Tenino.”_

_Richard thought of his younger brother, the laughing, charming man who’d been bound for adventure when he left for the Oregon Territory five years ago to settle in a tiny hamlet in Washington. “I need you more, Ellie,” Richard cried, his voice cracking. He cupped her cheeks. “I canna lose you, not like I lost Joan.” He saw the look that crossed her face whenever Joan’s name was brought up. He kissed her, pouring all of his heart into their embrace, and felt her shiver against him, making the sighing moan he’d come to love so much whenever he’d taken her into his arms. “I love you, Helen MacGowan,” he sighed against her lips, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’m worried for you.”_

“…so that’s the situation, Dwight,” Richard concluded, swallowing heavily at the lump of fear that had risen up his gullet. “And she is right, if I’d known about it we never would have left St Joseph.” He rubbed his eyes. “However, she pointed out that we have a doctor traveling with us, so I thought to come talk with you.” He turned to Ross. “But if I’m not convinced, I need to speak with you about leaving the train.”

Dwight blew out a deep breath and scratched the back of his head. “Well, Richard, I appreciate your wife’s faith in me.”

“Don’t let the false modesty fool you, Richard,” Ross chimed in, arching a look at his friend. “Dwight’s one of the best doctors I’ve ever known, and I’m not just saying that as a friend.”

“Thank you, Ross,” Dwight acknowledged with a grateful nod. “I have delivered several children, including premature babies, so I’ve the experience, and all of the necessary equipment to do it well.” He nodded in the direction of the Sheehan’s wagon. “Young Ruari and his wife Eleanor were traveling with their six-month-old daughter Siobhan and doing very well, so it’s possible to travel with an infant, and I don’t think your wife will be the only woman on this train to conceive during the six months of our journey. He paused. “Helen will have plenty of women with whom she can learn from along the way.” Dwight gripped Richard’s shoulder and looked at him with steady eyes. “And I promise you, I will care for her as if she were my own sister, Richard.”

Richard nodded. “Thank you, Dwight.” He felt somewhat better than he had upon awakening, but still needed to seek out all of his options. He arched a brow at Ross. “What are our opportunities for leaving the train?”

“Well, we could leave you at the next fort for you all to meet a train heading back,” Ross suggested, offering his companions to sample his peppermint candies before popping one into his own mouth. “I’d have to check with Graves to tell you how many days it’ll be before we reach it, and there’s no guarantee there will be a train heading back this way anytime before summer. Or if they’ll have someone as competent as Dwight at your disposal.”

“And I will say that the only physician of any merit I met in St. Joseph was preparing to leave for the east,” Dwight cautioned. “The others? Mostly charlatans and snake-oil salesmen.”

“Alright, alright, we will stay,” Richard sighed and gave his scalp a vigorous scratch. They were all being completely reasonable, dammit, his own wife included. He still felt fear all the way down to his waim, but he had to place his trust in the person he cherished most – his wife – and the new friends they’d made on their journey.

He poked Dwight in the chest. “You’re to tend to her, starting immediately.”

“I’m…er… happy to, Richard,” Dwight agreed, rubbing the bruised spot. “But shouldn’t we ask her first?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening, Demelza walked across the camp, watching the people near the campfire dancing around to the joyful sound of Mr Fellow’s fiddle, and hitched up the buffalo robe she carried into a firmer grasp. It had been a hard day’s travel deeper into Kansas towards Nebraska, with rain hampering their pace as they followed the banks of the Big Blue River. Ross had taken the boys over to the water’s edge after supper for a swim, which would also include a much-needed bath for all three of them. It had given her time for a quiet bath of her own. Now, feeling fresher than she had for a week, she headed towards the MacGowans’ wagon to speak with her friend. She and Helen had had a chance to catch up briefly during the dinner break and she’d been pleased to learn Helen’s husband had taken the news of their coming child better than her friend had hoped. But she wished to have a better catch up with Helen this evening.

She heard Richard’s deep, booming laugh as she approached the wagon as he and his son rounded the corner. “Good evening, Demelza!” he called, waving cheerfully.

“Good evening to you both, gentlemen,” she smiled. “You heading to the river as well?”

Glenn nodded. His eyes sparkled with delight and excitement. “I could hear Geoffrey Charles laughing all the way over here,” he grinned up at her.

“Fine night for a swim,” Richard opined cheerfully.

“I, uh, understand congratulations are in order,” Demelza offered, and was not surprised to see a flicker of deep concern cross his features. “I’ve come bearing a gift. And extra buffalo robe for Helen.”

Richard smiled. “You are most thoughtful, Demelza, thank you.” He took the blanket from her as if it were made of goose down. “Helen? Demelza’s here for a visit, hen.”

Helen came around, wiping her hands on her apron. “Demelza, I’m so glad you could come by for tea.” She caught a glimpse of the robe in Richard’s arms. “What’s this?”

“Something to make sleeping a little more comfortable for you,” she said, warmly. “We had an extra to spare.”

Helen took her hand. “Thank you, my dear friend,” she said, her throat sounding thick.

“Glenn, you go along and find Mr Poldark and the boys,” Richard spoke to his son. “I’ll be along in just a moment.” Glenn waved and ran off in the direction of the river.

Her friend dimpled at her. “You look lovely this evening!”

“Oh, thank you, Helen.” Demelza blushed and brushed her hands down her blue gingham dress. It was the first time she’d worn it since her wedding. “I had hopes to entice Ross into dancing with me, but he’d already left for the river with the boys before I had a chance to tempt him.”

“Well, if he doesn’a have the sense to snatch you up for a turn, I’m certain there’ll be many a gent who does, Demelza,” Richard chimed in, his voice as smooth and lyrical as the music drifting in from the campfire. “Myself included!” Demelza gave a shout of laughter as Richard winked at her and suffered a pinch on his arm from his wife. He scooped Helen against him with his free arm and kissed her soundly before setting her down on her feet, grinning as she blinked up dazedly at him. “I’ll put this down in our tent, mo ghràidh.”

Demelza giggled at his retreating back and looked at her friend, whose cheeks flamed from his kiss. “I take it everything is well with you, then?”

Helen flapped a hand at her and sighed. “Near enough to it, my dear.” She touched Demelza’s arm with her small hand. “Sincerely, thank you,” she murmured. “The robe will be greatly appreciated. Shall we have that tea?”

They chatted for close to an hour as the sun sunk away and left the stars and moon behind. Ross had informed Demelza that the MacGowans would stay with their train earlier that day so she was very pleased to hear her friend had already had a chance to speak with Dwight about her condition. It was also clear that sharing the news with Richard had done much to relieve some of Helen’s anxiety.

Helen raised a discrete hand to hide a yawn just as Demelza shared a receipt for berry shortbread. “I’m sorry, Demelza, but I can barely keep my eyes open,” she said, covering her mouth once again.

“I understand, dear,” Demelza laughed. “It’s growing late. I should see if Ross and the boys are back and start to get things closed up for the night.” She stood and embraced Helen. “I hope the new robe helps to ease your rest.”

She was walking back to the family’s wagon and stopped to listen to the beautiful music Mr Fellows all but magicked from his fiddle and heard footsteps behind her. Her throat tightened as adrenaline pulsed through her and she whipped around to find Grant Jefferson standing behind her. “Mr Jefferson!” she gasped, the air wheezing across her vocal cords. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Mrs Poldark,” Grant drawled in a honeyed tone that set the small hairs on the back of her neck on end. The tall, sandy blond brother of Anna Mae Fellows, Demelza had only had the chance to speak with him during the communal meals the members of the wagon train shared on Sundays. He was handsome, in a way, his features finely crafted, a masculine version of his sister’s. His voice, smooth and velvet with the sounds of Georgia had joined his brother-in-law in song a time or two, and while Demelza had found it to be pleasant and melodic, there was something about his manner than gave her pause.

He removed his hat, his blond hair shimmering in the firelight. “Have you been enjoying tonight’s melodies?”

“Yes, Mr Jefferson, it has been most pleasant,” she agreed, then resumed her walk towards the bright blue wagon.

He fell in step beside her. “I’ve not seen you dancing with the others yet,” he said, placing his hat back on, the brim shielding his eyes in shadow.

_Oh, where was Ross?_ she thought to herself, willing herself not to panic. “We’ve not had the time to indulge as yet, but I certainly hope to do so before you and your family part company with us at Casper.”

“Well, it would be my pleasure to have this next dance, Demelza,” he said smoothly, extending his hand to touch her arm.

“No, please, Mr Jefferson.” She flinched, her heart in her throat. “I must return to my wagon.” It was clear he’d noticed the speed at which she moved her arm away from his grasp, and he raised his spring green eyes to meet hers. They glittered with male appreciation and something more sinister. “I need to check on Geoffrey Charles, but I thank you for your offer. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Grant nodded, raising his finger to touch the brim of his hat. “ _Mrs_ Poldark.”

Demelza turned and quickened her pace back to their campsite. She’d not missed the overfamiliarity and lack of respect he’d shown her by the use of her first name and it raised goose flesh along her arms. Her breathing was thin and rasping as she reached the wagon and pressed herself against its wooden side. She trembled as the immediacy of the incident passed and she pressed her hands together against her stomach. She drew oxygen deep in and out her lungs and felt her pulse begin to steady, until she felt a small hand against her hip. She let out a yelp and looked down to see Geoffrey Charles’s sleepy blue eyes staring up at her. “Gracious me! Geoffrey Charles, what on earth are you doing out here?” she exclaimed, willing herself to calm down.

“Uncle Ross brought us back and went over to the MacGowans to find you,” he said. She noticed that he was wearing his nightshirt, wriggling and holding his crotch. “I need to go, Auntie Dede,” he whined.

“Yes, you certainly do, dear,” she agreed, thankful for the distraction and scooped him up in her arms. They walked over to the spot near the front of the wagon where they’d placed the chamber pot. She set him on the ground and he wasted no time, hoisting his nightshirt and holding it up nearly over his head. She heard the ring of the china and smiled. He’d been doing so much better at night, and hadn’t had another accident in several days. “Good boy, Geoffrey Charles,” she said softly, giving his little shoulder a squeeze. She turned her head, hiding her mirth and averting her eyes to give him some privacy.

Privacy was hard to come by on a wagon train, as she and Ross had painfully discovered the first night they’d been intimate in their tent. To the uninitiated, four people packed into a twelve by six foot tent each night might make for disruptive sleep. However, by the time they’d travelled up to twenty-five miles a day, much of that on foot, horseback or driving the wagon, it was a miracle they had enough energy to set up camp before collapsing into an exhausted stupor.

Despite the weariness that had begun to seep into her bones, as well as her unsettling experience with Grant Jefferson, Demelza still wished to join her fellow travellers as they danced and swirled around the campfire. It made her realize that she didn’t know if her new husband even enjoyed dancing. They’d shared many things in the six weeks they’d been married – _many…enjoyable things,_ she thought to herself with a smile – but she knew many secrets remained between the two of them, some complicated, and others not so much. They’d talked of the obvious things: favourite foods and drinks, general information about their families, but nothing about what they liked to do for fun.

She blinked and returned her attention to her nephew. “All finished?” she asked. He nodded and yawned. “It’s back to sleep for you, my lad,” she chuckled, taking his hand to start their way back to the tent. As they rounded the corner they ran into the person she’d just been musing about. “Oh, Ross!” she squeaked, startled.

Ross smiled. His glossy black hair was loose and curling, still slightly damp from his bath, and he looked delicious in his freshly washed white collarless shirt and black chambray trousers. “Out for an evening stroll, are we?” he teased, smiling down at his nephew, who bounded over and threw his arms around his uncle’s thighs. Momentum drove the boy’s head into his groin.

“Geoffrey Charles!” Demelza winced as Ross’s eyes widened, crossed, and then squeezed shut before her. He hissed a blistering curse through his teeth that she’d never heard before, and Demelza barely kept from laughing. She reached to draw the boy back against her as Ross coughed and leaned forward, drawing in gasps of air. She put her hand on his back and moved it in slow circles. “Is there anything I can do for you, Ross?”

He turned his head and arched a look at her from under his brows. “We can’t kill him, can we?” he hissed. The corner of his mouth curved up in a pained smile.

“No,” Demelza murmured, smiling back. “We cannot.”

“Is Uncle Ross hurt, Auntie Dede?” Geoffrey Charles asked, fisting his hands in the folds of her skirt.

“Just a little, darling, but he will be all right in a moment,” she said softly, touching his tousled hair with her hand. Ross gave a pained chuckle, still bent over, bracing his hands against his knees. “Let’s get you tucked back in for the night, Geoffrey Charles.” She touched her husband’s side before taking the boy’s hand and leading him back to the tent.

She’d just kissed Geoffrey Charles’s forehead when she heard the tent flap shift aside and turned to see Ross’s peer in around the blanket divider. “Is he asleep?”

She nodded and rose to her feet. “Just drifted off.” She walked over and slipped her arms around his waist. “Are you all right, Ross?”

“I will survive,” he muttered, “although if it happens again I’ll not be able to guarantee the existence of our future children.” He grinned at her and kissed her. Peppermint and a touch of bourbon and she smiled. “Can I convince you to dance, cinnamon girl?”

She warmed with pleasure at the endearment and blinked up into his eyes. They were shadowed and gleamed black in the dim light of their oil lamp. “I would love to.”

Ross held up the tent flap for her to pass through, then took her hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm as they walked towards the central fire. He swung her into his arms as Mr Fellows started a waltz, a beautiful tune that immediately captured Demelza’s breath with its yearning. They moved around the fire in silence, gracefully matching the steps the other couples made around the fire.

“I wondered if you liked to dance, Ross,” she said softly, looking up at his handsome face. She shivered as he felt his fingers flex against her back.

He grinned down into her eyes. “I’ve been known to do so,” he said, twirling her around with ease and accomplishment. “I know how much you love music, Demelza, so I figured you’d be one to enjoy dancing.”

She nodded. Why was she surprised? “You are a very logical man, aren’t you, Ross?” she said as they dipped and whirled in time with the music.

He chuckled. “I have my moments, my dear.” They were silent for several moments, and she felt his thumb brush along the side of her lower spine. “I noticed you’re wearing your wedding dress,” he whispered in her ear.

She shivered with anticipation. “Well, it’s not really a wedding dress, Ross, just a favourite gift from a friend,” she said, trying to be coy. The look in his eyes made her want to pack all coyness away and respond as she wished.

It was clear he’d translated her look, for his own eyes, whisky-brown in the firelight, took on a darker, more intense tone. “It will always be your wedding dress to me, my dear.” They spun around a few more times before he closed the gap between them. “Do you remember the day I came back from Independence?” She nodded. “That evening, when you came down for supper, wearing that pretty satin gown, it made me wonder what it would be like to have met you when we were both in Cornwall, at the assembly hall.”

She cocked her head at him and felt the corner of her mouth twitch. “Are we speaking as if it were real life, or in some other kind of universe, in which I was a lady or you were a simple farmer?”

“But I am a simple farmer, my dear,” Ross teased softly, and brushed a kiss on her ear. “If I’d met you there, I would have asked you to dance, regardless if you were a lady or a kitchen maid.” She found herself to be tremendously moved by this, and fell silent to regain her composure, leaning close to press her forehead against his throat.

His lowered his head to her hair. “How is it you’re able to keep your hair smelling of flowers?” he asked, so quietly she’d almost needed him to repeat his question. Almost.

“I sewed lavender into my pillow,” she whispered, her voice quavering. His breath against her ear made her heart quicken. She pressed her nose against the skin of his neck, tasting his scent in her nostrils: soap, bay rum from his bath. And Ross. Always Ross.

He took one more deep breath against her hair and then leaned back to resume their formal stance. “I like it very much,” he said. They continued the dance in silence, the cry of the fiddle holding them captive to its song until it reached its conclusion. They parted and clapped in appreciation to Mr Fellows bowed and struck up another song, this one a fast number. Ross tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “As much as I would like to continue I must be up early tomorrow, my dear,” he said, and she could hear regret in his tone. “Shall we turn in for the night?” He looked towards their wagon and she noticed the smaller tent pitched near the riverside. “I wish to remove you from your wedding dress and do what I feel safe to say we both wished we’d been able to do that night.”

The flesh between her thighs responded to the promise of his words. She nodded, willing her trembling legs to carry her. “Yes, Ross. Thank you for the dance.”

He smiled and brushed the inside of her wrist with his lips. “You are welcome, Demelza.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*

Grant watched them as they walked away from the campfire, the beautiful red-haired woman who haunted his dreams at night and the man she’d married. Figured that the two of them would make good used of that little pup tent of theirs. They may have thought it had gone unnoticed to the rest of the folks on the train, but he had certainly paid attention to the first time he’d seen Ross setting it up away from their wagon.

Grant’s lips curved in a smile when he remembered how hard he’d come, listening to the soft, mewling noises she’d made from his seat not more than ten feet from where she’d spread her legs for her husband. That night, and every night they’d found the need to rut like sheep.

_She’ll make those sounds for me soon enough,_ he thought to himself, and ran his hand down over the stiffening flesh between his legs. He ground out his cheroot and moved into the shadows, to find himself a good place to hide.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for your continued support of this story. Your kudos and comments really help to make the days where the words are hard to come by and the struggle becomes SUPER-real. It has been quite difficult the last week or so, when Real World Events take over and sap one's strength and resilience. I thank my friends vickysnest, rainpuddle13, xxsparksxx, AndyR, iorwen and shortarms-bigteeth for helping me see past the dark days and find those moments of humor and grace when I needed them the most. 
> 
> A special thanks to rainpuddle13 for her wonderful beta, and for partnering with me on our companion story about the MacGowans. It is a joy to collaborate on both tales with you!


	17. Wyoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Joshua Robinson leaned back, feeling a few satisfying pops along his spine as he finished setting up camp for the evening. It was hard work for one man to accomplish, but hard work was something he’d known most of his life, despite who his father had been.

His parentage had been one of the worst kept secrets on the wealthy Virginia plantation where he’d been born the illegitimate son of Gray Robinson, master of same, and Flora, one of the house slaves responsible for the laundry. The skin that the other slaves called “high-yella” was not the only thing that betrayed his heritage, but the handsome, blue-grey eyes that were the mirror of the man who’d fathered him.

Catherine, the master’s wife, had been dismayed to learn her own one-year-old twin sons, Anthony Gray and Philip Hawthorne, now had a new brother in the house. Not enough to force her husband to sell Flora and her child away from the plantation, however; with the house slave around, the mistress of Edgewater hadn’t had to further submit to her husband’s carnal intentions.

And so had begun the somewhat awkward, occasionally violent (for it hadn’t taken long for the twins to discover the truth and take it out on him), but mostly loving childhood of Joshua Humphrey Robinson.

His mother, Flora, was beautiful; with warm brown eyes and delicate features that betrayed the white blood that had helped to form her. She had been a welcomed addition to the Robinson house upon her initial arrival from the West Indies at the age of twelve. Eloise Robinson, widow of the late patriarch Patterson and Gray’s mother, hadn’t wanted any of the dark-skinned negroes in service anywhere closer to the big house than the woodshed, a tradition that had continued as long as Joshua had been alive. His mother had been elevated to the role of nurse and body slave to the elder Mrs Robinson not six months before when the young master had returned from university. He’d taken one look at Flora and had fallen in love with her, sentiments she’d returned despite urgent warnings from the other slaves.

Their love affair had continued, discreetly under the noses of all of the whites of Edgewater, for a year before the elder Mrs Robinson had insisted Gray acquire a wife to provide an heir. It had nearly broken both Gray and Flora’s hearts. As a dutiful son of the south, he’d compiled, and remained faithful to his new wife Catherine for three years until the birth of the twins. Her duty completed, she’d promptly banished Gray from her bedchamber. Gray turned to his first – and only – love for consolation. Nine months later, Joshua had been born.

Although his father hadn’t been able to be openly affectionate with him, Joshua knew he loved him, by the occasional smile or lingering glance from the grey eyes that were a mirror of his own. Gray had further exhibited his love for his son in three, clearly identifiable ways: he’d been named after Gray’s maternal grandfather. Second, he’d been educated, not only to read, write and perform sums, but in the field of design and architecture, for Joshua had shown natural, exceptional talent at an early age. He’d gone on to  demonstrate his gifts in designing some of the furnishings and outbuildings on the plantation. Finally, that upon Gray’s death, Joshua, his new wife Elizabeth -- or Betsy as she was commonly known -- and his mother would be granted their freedom, the sum of three hundred dollars and references for the three of them to seek employment with his cousin in New York City.

It was during a visit to Marybeth Robinson’s home that Caroline Penvenen mentioned she was in need of some servants to assist her and her uncle Raymond on their journey west. Flora, overhearing this whilst serving tea, suggested they meet with her son and daughter-in-law. When Miss Penvenen had told Joshua about the trip and Bush Prairie, he’d been barely able to contain his excitement. He’d heard rumours of the place and had figured it was a fable, wishful thinking dreamed up by the desperate minds of proud, able-bodied men and women ensnared within the chains of slavery. Convincing Betsy had taken some doing, but in the end the prospects out west held more promise than anything they could have found for themselves in the city.

Miss Penvenen had also suggested Flora join them as nursemaid to her uncle. Joshua had Betsy sew the money they’d received from Gray into a belt that they took turns in wearing, keeping it safe until they arrived in Washington. He intended to become a merchant, opening a woodworking shop to sell some of his designs for household furnishings and, he hoped, offer his services as an architect. If it could happen anywhere in this country, he thought, it could happen in Bush Prairie.

“Joshua?”

He roused from his recollections at the sound of his mother’s contralto voice coming from the back of the wagon. “Yes, Mama?” he called, striding around to where he found her, smiling at him through the oval opening in the canvas. No one would believe she was nearing fifty, her toffee coloured skin still smooth, a dusting of tiny moles appearing along the sides of her face. The indigo head wrap hid her hair, long and curling, now peppered with silvery-white strands.

“Can you go down and help Betsy up with the laundry?” Flora requested with the musical lilt of her homeland, and adjusted the spectacles that rested on her nose. “I need the blankets she took down for beating. Mr Raymond is ready to be settled in for the night.”

“How is he doing today, Mama?” Joshua asked, craning his head to peer around her shoulder. A sickly sweet odour came from the inside of the covered wagon and he looked up into her concerned face. Raymond Penvenen clearly suffered from the same sugar sickness that had taken Gray Robinson in the end.

Flora heaved a sigh. “There’s no change, son. But he has been following Mr Dwight’s instructions so it hasn’t gotten any worse.”

Joshua knew she was remembering his father’s final days and touched her hand. “Will he make it to Washington?”

She shook her head, sadly and took a deep breath. “I don’t think so, but Miss Caroline doesn’t know that. Yet.”

Her voice was scratchy and Joshua stroked her hand with his thumb. “I’ll go see about those blankets, Mama.” He gave her a sad smile and headed towards the river.

He released the long, thickly coiled strands of his hair from the leather thong he wore when he worked as he walked, sending what looked like hundreds of roughened plaits across his shoulders. His mother had trained his hair into these from childhood, and they now reached his lower back. He took several strands near the sides and tied them around the back of his head, loosely containing the leonine mane away from his face.

He was unaware of the princely figure he cut across the centre of the campsite. He gleamed, skin and hair like burnished gold in the evening sun, tall, handsome and strong, in a lean, feline way. The years of slavery had taught him to have a quiet pride and dignity that burned within, despite any outward signs of subservience he might show. He nodded politely when greeted, kept his eyes lowered when appropriate and was well aware of the real threats that remained constant to all black man anywhere in this nation.

He whistled tunelessly through his teeth, thinking about the conversation he’d had with Mr Dwight the night before. They’d formed a friendship of sorts, despite the uncomfortable start to their acquaintance weeks before, and Joshua had finally worked up the courage to show the doctor some of his designs for houses and home furnishings. Dwight had been effusive with his praise over the sketches, even suggesting that he could possibly earn a little money while they were traveling, working with the families on the train. After all, most of them would need homes built or furnishings made when they arrived in Bush Prairie. Particularly, he’d said, his friends, Ross and Demelza Poldark.

He’d refused at first, of course. Yes, he’d hoped to start a business once they arrived. Once they were free. He couldn’t begin the business now, not while he was still seen as less than a man to the others on their wagon train. Mr Dwight had said he’d been a friend with Mr Poldark for many years, that he was fair and just _._ Poldark was the de facto mayor of their wagon train and very highly respected. Although Joshua had spoken with Poldark on one occasion, they had not had the opportunity to form a friendship of any kind. Should he ask Mr Dwight for an introduction?

Joshua’s thoughts and steps slowed as he cleared the circle of wagons and approached the riverbank. There was movement coming from a clump of cattails and grasses that acted as a shield for the section of the river they’d designated for bathing. He squinted in an effort to figure out what was causing the movement when a man backed out of the thicket. He quickened his pace. “Excuse me, sir,” he inquired sharply. “This area is for bathing. Can I help you with something?” His step faltered when a flushed Grant Jefferson turned to face him.

“What do you want, nigger?” Jefferson drawled slowly, adjusting his trousers.

Joshua frowned at the word, but lowered his eyes. “Nothing, sir,” he said diffidently, his insides burning with anger, tamped down from years of experience.  “I thought you might be in need of assistance. My apologies, sir.”

“I don’t need anything from the likes of you, boy,” Jefferson sneered and spat on the ground near Joshua’s feet, and then moved to stand within inches of black man’s face. The warm, fetid smell of stale chewing tobacco and whiskey bloomed from Jefferson’s mouth. “Now, you say anything about seeing me here and you never can tell what might happen to you.” He glanced up, nodding towards the tall oak less than ten feet away from where they stood. “So many trees around here. And there’s always some spare rope around a wagon train like this. Enough for two, perhaps?” He shifted his gaze towards the laundry area, where his wife Betsy stood, talking with one of the other women. “Why not three?” he continued, arching a brow in the direction of Joshua’s wagon. “Your mama’s thin enough to fit between the two of you.”

Fury like he’d never known raged through his veins. Fury and fear. He lowered his eyes, bowed his head and nodded. “Yessir,” he whispered, glad the constriction in his throat kept him from roaring the words aloud.

“Good boy,” Jefferson said with a laugh, and patted Joshua on the back of his head as he walked away.

Joshua remained frozen in place, his eyes filling with bitter tears as he looked at his wife, laughing at the antics of the passel of children that took advantage of a few last minutes of play before returning to their wagons for the night, trembling with the anguish of a man who wanted to protect the women he loved, but knew to do so meant certain death.

He walked over to the stand of grasses to see just whom the miserable piece of filth had been spying on. His eyes caught Demelza Poldark and Helen MacGowan, still clad in their shifts, splashing the cool water over their shoulders. The water had turned the fabric translucent, leaving very little to the imagination. Joshua blinked hard, backing away to jog over to where Betsy stood.

“Joshua,” she said happily, her eyes focused on folding the last of the laundry. “I’m so glad to have your he—” She stopped, her eyes widening as she took in his countenance. “What’s wrong, husband?”

He picked up the basket and grabbed her arm. “Not here,” he said darkly as she gasped and winced. He would apologize for the strength of his grip later.

 

~*~*~*~~*~*~*

Demelza woke at dawn to find the space Ross had occupied next to her still warm with his body heat, but empty nonetheless. They’d slept their small tent for the first time in three weeks, and she’d welcomed the intimacy they’d  shared in the night, the closeness easing some of the tension she’d continued to feel whenever Grant Jefferson was around. He hadn’t made any untoward gestures towards her since the night of the dance, but she couldn’t help but notice his tendency to be in close proximity at the oddest times.  

She shook her head and sat up amidst their rumpled bedclothes, dismayed to have found Ross kneeling near the opening of their small tent, buttoning the fly of his buckskin trousers, his hair a riot around his head. “Why do you have to be the one to go to the fort, Ross?” Demelza whispered.

“I told you last night,” her husband said gruffly. “We need to ensure they have space for us to stop for an extended break. They can accommodate trains stopping for a day or so, but for nearly two weeks?” He shook his head.

She pouted. “Why can’t Dwight go?”

“Because he’s tending to the people on our train, Demelza.” His voice hissed impatiently through the tent and she flinched.

He was right, of course. Dwight was pulling double duty on their journey, often working into the night should someone fall ill. Ross was the natural choice to accompany Graves to the fort, and he didn’t need her acting like a petulant child about it. “I’m sorry, Ross.” She raised her eyes to see him ease his way back over to her side.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry, cinnamon girl, I really am,” he crooned, his voice low and dark. He kissed her, and she sighed, her hands sliding around his neck to tangle in his hair. He hummed deep in his chest, his tongue caressing hers. One of his hands moved under her nightrail to touch her intimately. She knew he’d find her wet, swollen for him and she flexed against his fingers, her inner thighs quivering. “Hungry for me, are you?” he whispered against her lips, his longest finger slipping into her quim.

She gasped and thrust against his hand, his thumb teasing her clit. “Yes,” she breathed, “always, dear Ross.” His eyes were dark and intense as she eased back to reach for his fly. He shook his head. “Ross?”

“Take off your nightrail,” he murmured. Commanding, dominant, powerful. His words were like a caress across her skin. “I need to see you.”

She pulled the garment over her head, felt her nipples tighten in the cool morning air. She licked her lips, her eyes resting on his erection, clearly outlined against the soft buckskin. She reached for him, smoothing her hand along his length, hot and pulsing against her fingers. He grunted, flexed his hips to press his cock hard against her touch. She rose onto her knees, her breasts brushing his chest, the hairs tickling against her nipples. She bit her bottom lip and purred. He gripped her upper arms, and -- for the first time -- delighted in the tightness of his hands against her flesh there and smiled when she saw the flicker of concern fill his eyes. “Please, Ross,” she murmured a second before his mouth slashed down across hers, his tongue hungry for hers.

Her hands moved to his lower back, slipping underneath the waistband of his trousers to knead his buttocks like a cat. She tore her lips from his, caressing the side of his neck with her tongue until she reached the muscular flesh near his collarbone. She latched her teeth and tongue against his skin to leave a mark, then smiled up at him at his shocked exclamation. She kissed his jaw and flicked her tongue against his earlobe. “I need to see you, too, Ross,” she whispered.

He leaned back, gasping and nodded, quickly rising to his feet. Her fingers trembled as she unbuttoned his fly. She pulled him against her, rubbing her nose and mouth against the twitching muscles of his lower belly while her hands drew the buckskin over his buttocks and down his legs. She captured his cock in her mouth and he gasped her name, his hands fisting in her hair as she suckled and tongued him, tasting the salt and musk of his flesh, the tang of her quim that lingered from the night before, and the first few bittersweet droplets of his seed that eased from him, until he stopped her with a groan. She looked up at him, drawing her tongue along the underside of his cock. “Now.”

“Yes, now, Demelza,” he whispered, pushing her down and joining her on the robes.

She shook her head when he shifted to lie on his back, to draw her over him. “Do, Ross.” She laid back against the buffalo skin, pulling him towards her, and opened herself to him. “Please.”

It took him a moment to comprehend what she’d asked him to do, and she smiled when recollection softened the lines of his face. “Sweetheart,” he breathed,  his eyes disbelieving. “Are you certain?” He slipped his hard, muscular leg between hers and raised his torso over hers.

“Yes,” she panted, “yes, Ross, please.” He leaned close, kissed her almost savagely as he settled between her legs and thrust home, sinking deep within her. She groaned, the flickers of her fear whispering in the back of her mind. Her need for him spiked as he began to move, silencing the ghosts with each thrust. She drew him down until she bore his weight, his head cradled in the curve of her neck as his arms slid under her back. His hands gripped her shoulders. “So good, Ross, please more...lose yourself in me, darling.”

“Jesus, Demelza,” he growled through his teeth. “Wrap your legs around my waist.” She did, her feet linking at the small of his back. He groaned, murmuring against her skin, thrusting to the root of his body, setting a frenzied pace that she gloried in the taking. His teeth and mouth marked her shoulder and made her cry out. He kissed her, drinking her moans, murmuring unintelligible words of need against her lips, dark and low as her nails scored his back. “So close, a part of you,” he rasped against her throat, one of his hands stealing up to cup her breast. His eyes met hers. “Mine, always mine.”

“Yes, yours,” she mewled, drawing his head down to claim his mouth with hers, nipping his bottom lip as he groaned, his body shivering against hers.

Minutes later, he tore his mouth from hers. “Demelza!” he rasped in her ear, one of his hands shifting to cup her buttock. He thrust hard and deep as she felt the quivering pulse of his release within her and it triggered her own. She squeezed his waist with her legs, holding him fast and tight within her as she flew in his arms.

She opened her eyes and smiled against his temple, tasting the sweat of his brow. The scent of their lovemaking hung heavy around them, and her hands slid down the length of his sweat-soaked back, giving his waist another squeeze with her legs. The weight of his body pressed her into the buffalo robe, making her ribs creak and she was glad of it. She knew, at last, what it was to lie under the man she loved, to cradle him within her body, to welcome his weight and find release in his arms.

  


An hour later, she kissed him as he leant down from the saddle. “Stay safe, dearest Ross,” she murmured against his lips. She slipped a finger inside the collar of his shirt and brushed the bruise she’d left on his olive skin and felt him smile against her mouth.

He kissed her nose, eyes glowing whiskey-brown in the morning sun. “I will, I promise,” he assured her and settled back into the saddle. “I’ll see you in the morning.” He tipped his hat to his nephew. “Be a good boy for your aunt, Geoffrey Charles!”

“Bye, Uncle Ross!” Geoffrey Charles chirped, waving his hand. Ross looked at her once more before wheeling around and trotting off to join Mr Graves. Minutes later, the men disappeared around the curve of the river.

Demelza took Geoffrey Charles’s hand and walked back to clear away the breakfast dishes. “Look!” the boy shouted, pointing at the tailgate of the wagon. A pretty bouquet of wildflowers lay next to the empty platter from the morning’s meal. She smiled brightly, her heart in her throat as she picked up the nosegay and touched the tender petals of the cornflowers and buttercups, her eye just noticing a wisp of paper before it caught the breeze. She reached for it, catching it between her fingers and raised it to her eyes.

“My cinnamon girl,” he’d written in block letters, once again, and she pressed the note and flowers against her breast.

“From Uncle Ross, huh?” Geoffrey Charles said, a sly grin on his face.

“Yes, they are, my lad,” she said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. She ruffled the boy’s blond hair and scooped him up in her arms. “Let’s get moving before they leave us behind!”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Next stop, Fort Laramie, Wyoming!” Graves shouted from the back of his horse. “Get back to your camp and try to catch some shut eye, you hear me, Mr Poldark?”

“With pleasure,” he groaned, raising his hand in farewell to Graves.

“Ross!” Richard called from his wagon. “Are we settled in for arrival?”

“Aye, Richard, and they’ve got space for you at the smithy’s to set up!” Ross smiled wearily at his friend as he rode back into camp. The Poldark-Enys train would stop at the fort for ten days, the first significant break since leaving St Joseph, Missouri nearly two months before. They would have the chance to rest the animals, restock on their supplies and repair wagons. It was a good thing for the latter point, Ross thought, because some of the vehicles fairly limped along the trail. Richard – and thank heavens they’d been fortunate enough to have a blacksmith in their community – had done a heroic job of mending what he could without a forge, but several families would need to visit the smithy’s shop before they could proceed through the mountains that laid ahead.

While there, Ross had arranged for a surprise for his family. He’d booked rooms at the lodging house, so that they would have a roof over their heads and decent beds to sleep in for the first time in two months. And while the boys had taken to their adventure as a lark (for the most part), he’d noticed the strain in Demelza’s usually sunny disposition within the last few weeks and hoped several nights of quiet and privacy would help restore her.

As their time in their tent had done the night before, he thought warmly, his body responding to the memories of their lovemaking, and the final step they’d made together. He swore he could still feel her legs around his waist and shifted a little uncomfortably in his saddle as his cock rose, hard and fast, within the buckskin. He’d never felt as close to another human being as he had with Demelza that night, their passion so evenly matched it had been impossible to keep the words of love he’d held close to his heart from coming out. He wondered if she’d heard him, had understood what he’d said to her, so muffled against her mouth.

_Was she ready to hear them from him? And am I truly ready to reveal them._

He reached their wagon, the blue paint growing more and more faded by the day, and swung off Seamus’s saddle with a groan. Tying the horse to one of the rings they’d installed specifically for that purpose, he removed the saddle and blanket and was heading around the back towards Dwight’s wagon when he caught the flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. He smiled broadly, turning to call out her name when he noticed Grant Jefferson standing within inches of Demelza. The look on her face said it all: he was crowding her, and she was remembering.

It all happened in seconds. Ross dropped the saddle and the noise made her jerk, jostling the steaming coffee mug she held. The hot liquid splashed across the top of her hand and she cried out, backing away from Jefferson and stumbling. Jefferson’s hands shot out, grasping Demelza’s upper arms. Her eyes went black and she screamed.

“Demelza!” Ross shouted, breaking into a run and reaching her side within an instant. He hauled her out from Jefferson’s grasp and pulled her tight against him. It was only then that he realized she’d fainted. “Oh, God.”

Others were gathering, drawn by her scream when Drake came skidding around the side of the wagon. His face was filled with anguish. “I heard her scream, Ross. What’s happened?”

Ross was never so glad to see the boy in his life. “Drake, go get Dwight now,” he implored, scooping Demelza up into his arms. “And tell him to bring his medical bag. Quickly!” The boy nodded and ran. Ross turned his furious gaze towards Jefferson, who’d stood watching the goings on with an odd, appraising look on his face. “Is there a reason why you find yourself at my camp with your hands on my wife?”

Jefferson’s brows arched up in what Ross supposed to be innocent shock. “I was merely trying to keep her from falling down, Poldar—”

“—Which wouldn’t have been required if you weren’t standing too near to her to begin with!” Ross interrupted with a snarl. He took a step closer, pinning Jefferson with his eyes. “Don’t come near her, Jefferson, do you hear me?” he growled.

“I’m fairly certain the entire camp can hear you,” Jefferson grinned sardonically. "You'd be surprised how far your voice carries."

“Just stay away from her,” Ross ordered. “Do you understand?” A soft moan whispered in his ear and he realized Demelza was rousing. He glared at Jefferson who nodded, took another look at the woman held in Ross’s arms and walked away.

“What happened?” Demelza slurred blearily. Her eyes were unfocused, and he was desperate to kiss her, but didn’t dare until he was certain she’d stopped remembering. “Ross?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” he murmured, carrying her to their campsite and settling her down on a folding stool. “Let me see your hand.”

“Whatever for?” she asked, raising her hand. He saw the moment she remembered what had happened, the sweet quizzle of confusion on her brow changing into a frown of fear. Her hand was red and splotchy from the hot coffee and she hissed when he touched it. “Oh, Ross, that was so stupid of me.”

“Demelza, no.” He did kiss her then, memories be damned. Her hand slipped around his neck and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss for a second before breaking away. He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers and smiled. “I’ve sent for Dwight to see to your burn.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

“Demelza, what happened here?” he asked softly. “Can you tell me why Jefferson was here?”

Her eyes widened with recollection and she huddled closer. “H-He said he was on his way to get his horse for first watch and thought to wish me a good morning.” She frowned. “He…he stands too close, he always stands too close, and it makes me nervous.” She looked up at Ross, tears filling her eyes. “I heard a noise, and I startled.”

“That was my fault, my dear.” He kissed her temple regret making him hoarse. “I could tell he was crowding you so I thought to intervene. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head again and cupped his cheeks. “I’m so glad you’re home, Ross.”

Her voice quavered towards the end and he kissed her again. “So am I.” He looked up at the sound of running footsteps and saw Dwight and Drake nearing their campsite. “I want you to stay away from Jefferson, do you understand?” She nodded and burrowed closer. He would take her within his body if he could, just to protect her. “And to let me know if you see him lingering around you again.”

“What happened, Ross?” Dwight asked, worry clear in his face. “Drake said he heard her scream.”

Ross nodded. “She’s burned her hand and had a bit of a fright,” he said softly. “Can you tend her injury and then take over my turn at watch today? Drake can manage your wagon while you’re out.”

“Of course, Ross,” Dwight said, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll take care of Seamus for you as well.”

“I appreciate that, gentlemen.” Ross looked down at his wife, at the tears that streamed down her fair cheeks. “I need to stay close to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to those of you still hanging on (despite the increasing amount of time between updates)! Real Live is being a serious bitch right now... Rainpuddle13, I cannot thank you enough for stepping up and calling me on my bullshit so that I don't rush through this part. Because I can't. I really can't. Your counsel is invaluable to me. :-) 
> 
> So.... I've kind of fallen in love with the Robinsons a bit. If you couldn't tell. While I don't think I'll write their "Before the Prairie" story now, I will -- one day -- write Gray and Flora's story. I will, dammit.
> 
> And yes... Jefferson is fucking evil. Fasten your seatbelts... it gets worse before it gets better.


	18. Ft. Laramie, WY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caution: there could be some non-physical, verbally threatening triggery stuff in this chapter for some of you out there, so be careful.

Dwight galloped to the outer edge of the range they’d all agreed to cover when riding watch, happy to enjoy the sun on his back and the wind in his hair. Tahoma seemed to enjoy the exercise, giving a little kick every now and then as they raced across the plains. He could just begin to see the outskirts of the fort ahead and estimated they would arrive within a few hours.

He rode past Ross’s wagon and gave his friend a wave. He was glad to see it returned with what looked to be a small smile. The doctor’s mind turned over the events of the morning and he wondered how Demelza was faring. Ross had told him what happened with Jefferson, and he’d frowned with concern. Dwight hadn’t liked her pallor when he’d seen her at camp for their dinner break and had insisted she try to get a little rest.  From what he could tell, she done as he’d asked, retreating to the inside cubby with Geoffrey Charles where Dwight hoped she’d been able to sleep.

He had been checking in with the Penvenens when Drake had come careening around their corner to find him that morning. Dwight had caught all three of the Robinsons exchange a decidedly weighty glance once the boy panted Jefferson’s name. There was no way Dwight could let a look like that go unexplored, and meant to follow up with them about it when they reached the fort.

He was well pleased with the friendship he’d begun to develop with Joshua, Betsy, and Flora Robinson, after their rather ignominious beginnings. It had been Flora, who Dwight hadn’t even given Caroline time to mention that first night, who had helped to pave the way forward. It had been two weeks after he’d apologized to Caroline and the younger Robinsons when he’d felt a hesitant tap on his shoulder just before he turned in for bed.

_“Sweet Jesus!” He whirled on his heel to stare into thin air before glancing down to find a reed-thin black woman of indeterminate age peering up at him through gold-rimmed spectacles, her arms crossed across her chest._

_“No need to take the Lord’s name in vain, sir,” she humphed, her voice coloured with the lilt of the West Indies._

_“Where did_ you _come from?” Dwight asked, confusion swamping his brain. He’d never seen her before._

_“I am Flora Robinson, nursemaid to Mr Ray Penvenen,” she said smartly._

_Dwight opened and closed his mouth, and then realized he must look like a landed trout. “You’re Joshua’s mother?” Of course, he could see the resemblance now, particularly in the shape of the mouth and nose._

_She pursed her lips. “Of course I am!...Sir.” This last was added with equal parts respect and exasperation. “You be Dwight Enys?” He nodded dumbly. “Was wondering if you could come by our wagon, sir. Mr Ray is doing poorly and I hoped you might have something for the sugar sickness.”_

_Dwight frowned at that. “Mr Penvenen has diabetes?” he asked, his hand already reaching for his medical bag._

_Flora’s brows snapped together. “Well, if that’s what you fancy folks call the sugar sickness, then yes, he does.” She turned then looked over her shoulder. “You comin’?”_

_“Yes, ma’am,” Dwight confirmed, grasping the handle on his bag and following after her._

_It had only taken a few moments to confirm Flora’s diagnosis. Ray Penvenen complained of a powerful thirst, had an ulcer on his foot that was failing to heal and his urine smelled sickly sweet. The doctor glanced at Caroline, the pretty lines of her face filled with worry. He wasn’t certain how much she knew about her uncle’s condition, but he was fairly certain the prognosis was such that it would make ensuring Raymond’s arrival in Washington difficult. Dwight was willing to do whatever he could to try._

After that evening, he would visit the Penvenen wagon twice a week, working with both Caroline and Flora to develop the best treatment plan they could muster out on the Oregon Trail. Raymond’s favourite clarets and brandies were eliminated, and water, unsweetened coffee and tea were substituted, much to the older gentleman’s chagrin. Fresh fruit was in short supply, so eggs, dried fruits – in moderation – and broths became his staple foods.

As the weeks had gone by, Dwight would do his utmost to raise Caroline’s spirits with his storytelling of his adventures out to the west with the Hudson’s Bay Company, his early days in friendship with Ross in Cornwall, even recounting some of his less-than-appropriate engagements with cardsharps and the other colourful characters that could be found in the saloons. He enjoyed his evenings with Caroline very much. What man could resist enjoying the perusal of a beautiful woman, but one who was also smart, witty and charming? She’d surprised him with her knowledge of the American West, when she’d peppered him with questions whenever he spoke of his experiences.

He’d also had time to get to know Joshua and his wife, Betsy, during their travels. He still remembered the evening a month after leaving St Joseph when the man had shown him a small book that, upon investigation, had made Dwight sit at their campfire with his mouth agape. Page after page of exquisite drawings of chairs and tables, headboards and other small household furnishings filled the little journal.

_“These are incredible, Joshua!” he marvelled. “Have you shown them to anyone else?”_

_“N-No, Mr Dwight,” he stammered. “Of course not.”_

_“Well, you should,” Dwight encouraged, flicking a baleful glare at Joshua, wondering when the man would start to call him by his Christian name. And only his Christian name. “You could earn money while we’re traveling to the west. All of the families on the train will need furnishings when they arrive to their destinations.” He flipped to another page and saw a sketch of a house. Simple lines, drawn by a confident hand. And looked to be about the right size for… Dwight flipped the book around, flapping it at Joshua. “You must show this to Ross.”_

_Joshua held the book still and blinked. “Show this to Mr Poldark, Mr Dwight?” he said incredulously. “You lost your mind?” He paused. “Sir.”_

_“No, I haven’t, dammit,” Dwight said simply, glowering good naturedly at his friend. “Ross and Demelza are going to have to get a home built and soon. He’s a strong man, not afraid of hard work, but he’d be the first to admit he doesn’t have the design skills to manage anything more complicated than four walls and a roof.” He paused. “I guarantee you, he’d be very interested in seeing this.”_

Nearly a month had gone by and Ross was none the wiser of the man’s talent. Dwight wondered if there were something about the bond agreement the Robinsons had signed with the Penvenens that precluded Joshua from pursuing employment outside of his obligation to the family. This caused his thoughts to drift towards the lovely Caroline once again and the one area they’d agreed to disagree about when he’d first offered his apology.

Learning the truth of her involvement with the Robinsons had humbled him and made him realize what a pompous, self-righteous prig he’d been. There was, however, an aristocratic air about her when she interacted with the Robinsons that continued to trouble him. It was clear that, while she appreciated everything the family did for her and her uncle, they should not consider her to be their friend. The deference they showed Caroline and Raymond Penvenen was servile and, while Dwight knew it was appropriate, it continued to chafe. He hadn’t spoken of it to Caroline since their initial détente, but now thought they should, if for no other reason than to clear the air and forge a path for Joshua.

Perhaps ask her to dinner when they reach the fort? Decision made, he turned Tahoma back towards the train in search for the Penvenen’s.

~*~*~*~~*~*

Demelza woke as light flickered through the opening at the front of the wagon. She felt groggy and disoriented, but was glad that the headache that had plagued her all morning was gone. Her hand brushed the buffalo robe next to her, where Geoffrey Charles had snuggled against her when she’d first climbed in the back with him after they resumed their travels following dinner. She’d been practicing her reading and was pleased to be making her way through the boy’s well-worn book of rhymes Ross had brought with them from Cornwall. “The Tales of Mother Goose” by M. Perrault, the title had read, and she’d finished the tale of Puss and Boots as her charge had drifted asleep against her breast.

She’d fallen for Geoffrey Charles almost from the moment she’d first met him, but her feelings for the lad had intensified since leaving St Joseph. She spent most of her waking hours with him, either up on the front seat of the wagon or back in his cubby, reading to him. She was the one who usually tucked him in bed for the night and woke him in the morning.

The love she had for Geoffrey Charles was only supplanted by her love for her husband. And Grant…that bastard knew it. Her mind fumbled over the events from the morning, made bile rise in her throat once more _._

_She’d slept fitfully the night before, missing Ross’s warmth and worrying for him. He and Graves had intended to ride hard in order to reach the fort by the mid-afternoon to tend to business. They would catch a few hours of rest before riding back to their train through the night in order to make final arrangements for their arrival. She didn’t like the thought of the two men riding through the night across this stretch of the trail alone. She’d heard some of the stories the other travellers had shared of Indian attacks, and while it wasn’t as if their train was outfitted with cannon and shot, she felt they were all much safer in numbers._

_But whenever she’d opened her eyes, she smiled at the pretty flowers she’d discovered yesterday after he’d left. She’d placed them atop his pillow, and the green scent from the bouquet had calmed her distress. She pressed them to her nose before she slid from under the bedclothes to start her day and took them out of the tent with her, placing them in a chipped milk jug on the tailgate so she could look at them while she prepared breakfast._

_It wasn’t as if Ross had never given her a gift. She wore the sunhat and ribbons he’d purchased for her on their wedding day, and the watch he’d given her after his return from Independence was the last thing she put on in the morning and the first thing to come off at night. But he knew of her special love for flowers, how she would always tuck a blossom in her hair if they were to pass them along their travels and pictured him stepping out into the meadow where they’d spent the night, gathering them as a surprise to leave with her during his absence._

_Quite frankly, it made her grin like an idiot, and she didn’t care one jot._

_“Smiling at those flowers again?” Drake teased her as he walked up with the milk he’d gathered from Miss Moo. She flicked a towel at him and chuckled as he hooted with glee. “I’m going to get Bite to hitch up. Do you need any help with breakfast?”_

_“No,” she said, stirring up a batch of corn cake batter. “We’ll eat in twenty minutes.” He nodded and walked back towards the livestock area. She turned from the batter to gather more eggs to fry when a shadow crossed her path. She started, her heart lurching in her chest and jerked her head up. “Mr Jefferson.”_

_“Mrs Poldark,” he said softly, dipping the brim of his hat with his forefinger. Demelza pressed her lips together, tilting the corner of her mouth in a reluctant smile. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”_

_“Yes, it is,” she said flatly._

_“Looks like you’re expecting your husband back for breakfast,” Jefferson observed, walking around her to peer into the bowl. He dipped his finger in the batter, ignoring her exclamation with a smile, and licked it. “You are one hell of a cook, Mrs Poldark,” he said, glancing at her from his spring green eyes. “Your batter is delicious.”_

_She sighed and crossed over to carefully pluck the coffee pot from the fire and carried it to the tailgate. “May I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asked over her shoulder with a politeness she didn’t feel and poured a cup for herself._

_“Thank you, but no, Demelza,” he said._

_Furious at his familiarity, she set the pot down with a clang and turned to find him standing within feet of her. She jolted despite of herself. “Mr Jefferson,” she said sharply, “I really must finish in order for us to be ready to lea—”_

_“—Did you like my flowers, Demelza?” he drawled lazily, the corner of his mouth easing up to reveal a dimple._

_She froze, feeling her blood grow cold in her veins. “Excuse me?” she rasped._

_“Just a few blossoms for the prettiest woman on the prairie,” he drawled._

_“Of all the nerve, Mr Jefferson,” Demelza hissed, clamping all of her will against the fear that was doing its level best to claw its way out of her throat. “This is unacceptable and you bloody well know it.”_

_“You’ve a beautiful voice,” he continued, as if he hadn’t even heard her, taking another step closer. “I especially like to hear it when you’re moaning under that husband of yours. ‘So good, Ross, please more...lose yourself in me, darling.’” He so expertly mimicked the sound of her voice it made her skin crawl._

_The coffee mug trembled in her hand as nausea turned her stomach. He’d been listening to them! Unwillingly, she pictured him, crouched in the bushes near their tent, his face avid with lust as his presence invaded the sanctuary she and Ross had made in their small tent. “Y-You are despicable,” she whispered, her lip curling with derision. “I shall tell Ross of your actions the minute he returns.”_

_His hand shifted to his groin to squeeze the substantial bulge that had formed there, much to her horror. “Well, he’s sure not here right now to save you, honey,” he scoffed. His eyes flicked to the watch she’d pinned onto the shirtwaist at the crest of her breast, then rose slowly up her neck to meet hers and ice cold fear flooded her veins. Memories of a darken stable slithered through her mind, the unwanted touch of a man’s hand on her skin, and she backed up a step._

_Suddenly, she heard Ross’s voice ring out in the distance, greeting Richard as he rode back into camp. It was as if she’d conjured him from thin air. The shadows in her mind creeped back to their corners at the sound and it restored her courage. “There he is now!” she sneered up at him. “He will see you strung up for this, you bastard.”_

_“You do that, Demelza,” he warned, taking another step towards her, “and that nephew of yours could very well meet with an unfortunate accident.” His eyes flicked over to where Geoffrey Charles played with Jefferson’s own niece and nephew. The air around her seemed to thin as she smelled the stale whiskey on his breath. “So many terrible things can happen to a boy his age, way out here in the middle of nowhere.”_

Demelza forced her eyes closed, shaking her head against the memories, and wiped the tears from her cheeks. Geoffrey Charles roused, murmuring sleepily against her and raised his hands to rub his eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to compose herself.

She could not let Ross discover the truth.

“Auntie Dede, are you alright?” the lad asked her, sitting up next to her.

“Yes, of course I am, darling,” she assured him, brushing his tangled fringe away from his forehead. “Can you play here for a little while? I need to speak with your uncle.”

He nodded. “Can I sit with you up on the front seat after you and Uncle Ross when you finish?”

“Absolutely,” she smiled, then paused. “Geoffrey Charles, can I ask you to keep something a secret for me?” He cocked his head and she didn’t wait for a response. “The flowers—”

“—The ones from Uncle Ross?”

She furrowed her brow, but nodded. “Yes, sweetheart, those. Don’t say anything about them to Uncle Ross, can you do that for me?”

He looked up at her, confusion awash on his face. “Yes, Auntie.”

She smiled tremulously, and then leaned forward, kissing him on the crown of his head as she blinked back tears. “I love you, my lad.”

His arms wrapped around her waist and she breathed in his little boy’s scent. “I love you too, Auntie.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross glanced over his shoulder as he heard movement behind him and saw Demelza and Geoffrey Charles locked in what appeared to be a comforting embrace. He wished nothing more than to stop their wagon and crawl back there with them and gather them both against him. He thought there were something more to what had occurred earlier, but did not wish to press Demelza in reliving the events at that particular moment. But he would need to know soon, in order to know what needed to be done about Jefferson.

“Ross?”

He turned to see Demelza standing up in the cubby, shielding her eyes from the setting sun. They were the blue-green of a robin’s egg, the colour he loved to see the most, and a little puffy from her tears. “Yes, sweetheart?” he said softly, slowing the oxen to a stop. He offered her his hand to help her join him on the bench seat and gave her fingers a little squeeze. “Did you get any sleep?” he asked and slapped the reins down to set them oxen to moving once again.

“Yes, a little,” she said quietly, her voice husky from sleep. “How far are we from the fort?”

He squinted and did the calculations. “A little under two hours. We had a little later start than we’d hoped—”

“—Oh, I hope that wasn’t because of me,” she said, squeezing his forearm.

“No, it had nothing to do with you,” he said, patting her hand. _Not completely true_ , he thought to himself, _but she certainly doesn’t need to have that on her shoulders._ “But we won’t be settled in for the night until closer to midnight.”

She was very quiet after this and he looked at her through his lashes. She was worrying her bottom lip in that way that made him want to kiss the breath out of her. “What’s the matter, cinnamon girl?” Her eyes flew to meet his and the disquiet he found there almost made him stop the wagon once again. “What is it, Demelza?” He shifted in his seat when she failed to say anything to hold her gaze and prayed the team of oxen would continue on course. “Look, I didn’t want to ask you about what happened earlier, but I will need to know sooner rather than later, in order to decide what should happen with Jefferson.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely audible over noise from the oxen.

He frowned. “Well, if it were up to me, he would have been thrown off this train the minute I’d returned to find you confronted by him,” he said tersely.

“Ross, please,” she urged, shushing him to keep the boy from overhearing them. “It was j-just a brief memory of…”

“Cornwall?” he finished for her.

“Yes.” She looked at him. “It hasn’t happened for a long time. It took me by surprise, when he came toward me. A-And he did keep me from falling after I stumbled.”

He hated the logic of it, hated the memory of seeing Jefferson’s hands on her, seeing her fear and distress. But she did have a point: if he hadn’t grabbed her, she would have fallen, perhaps hit her head, and for that… Ross admitted, quite begrudgingly, that he owed the bastard his gratitude. “Goddamn it.”

“Ross!” she hissed, flashing a look at the break in the canvas in back of them. Sure enough, he could hear Geoffrey Charles chanting his newly acquired curse word from his cubby below.

“I’m sorry,” Ross muttered. “I told Jefferson to stay away from you,” he said gruffly, wishing he could slide his arm around her waist and draw her closer, but needed to keep his hands on the reins. As if she’d heard his thoughts, she nestled closer, her breast soft and warm against the underside of his upper arm. “Richard and Dwight also know he’s to stay away from you.”

“Oh, Ross,” she moaned, embarrassment flooding her cheeks with colour.

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.” He removed his hand from the reins long enough to tilt up her chin with his index finger. “They care about you. We all do. Let us do this for you.”

She squirmed on the seat. “All right.” She leaned up and brushed her lips on his cheek. “Ross, can we stay in the large tent with the boys tonight? I want to keep all of my men close to me.”

He arched his brow at her and grinned. “No, I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

She blinked and frowned. “Whyever not, Ross?”

He leaned over, nudging her shoulder with his. “I’ve a surprise for you. We have rooms at the lodging house for the duration of our stay.”

He glanced at her to see her reaction and was not disappointed. The shadows that had hung around her eyes flitted away as the first happy smile he’d seen on her face since yesterday morning sparkled in the twilight. “Truly? A room with a real bed?”

He laughed. “Two rooms, with beds and wash stands,” he laughed, nuzzling her cheek. “And a door.” She gasped and looked up at him. “With a lock.”

She beamed. “Hurry!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all of you who continue to follow this story! It means the world to me. Thanks to Rain for her counsel and encouragement to push myself. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on Mr Jefferson... he's the first OC baddy I've ever written and I am hoping he's coming across as more than just another moustache-twirling bad guy. Please let me know!
> 
> The gang will be spending some time at the fort in the next chapter, which is under construction as I type. Take care!


	19. Respite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

It was almost half past ten when Ross led Demelza, Drake and Geoffrey Charles up to their rooms at the lodge house. As she touched the tapers to the lanterns in the boys' room and looked at her men, she was certain she’d never seen a more bedraggled bunch in her life. And she loved them all to the depths of her soul.

“Auntie Dede?” her very groggy nephew mumbled as Ross laid the boy onto the bed.

“Yes, my lad?” she responded, sitting next to him and unlacing his boots.

“Will you read me a story?”

“I think you’ll be asleep before I open the book, love.” She looked at him, his blue eyes barely focused. She slipped his trousers off and set them aside, pulling the blankets down and nudging him under. “How about if I hum a little something instead?” Geoffrey Charles nodded, golden lashes already drooping.

She began to hum a little of the song she and Ross had danced to several weeks ago. She'd asked Mr Fellows for the name of it the day after the dance and had learned it was called "Annie Laurie", a Scottish song about the forbidden romance between a Jacobite and the daughter of an English loyalist. As she hummed, she noticed Ross, who had gone back to the wagon for the carpetbag valise containing what they’d need for the night, leaning against the doorway, the spare glow from the lantern casting him in more shadow than light. She thought she saw a smile tilt the corners of his mouth, even through the thick beard he wore.

She returned his gaze. Was he remembering, too? She thought so, and hoped he remembered all that they’d shared that night.

She looked down at the boy and found him fast asleep. “I love you, Geoffrey Charles,” she whispered, brushing a kiss on his brow and stood, stretching her back. “Drake, do you have everything you need?”

“Yes, Demelza,” he said, lowering the lantern’s light, now that the lad was asleep. “You go on to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” He peered over her shoulder. “G’night, Ross.”

“’Night, son,” Ross said low and held out his hand to her. “Come, sweetheart. You look dead on your feet.”

She smiled wanly. “I really think I am, although I don’t know why. I napped most of the way here.” She shut the door to the boys’ room and let herself be guided to theirs. Demelza let out a sigh of bliss. The room was simple and a little spare, but a large, comfortable looking bed, a pot-bellied stove, and a washstand beckoned to her. She ran her hand along the blanket and promised herself to bring in the quilt Mrs Sherman had given them when they left. It would be a lovely reminder of the start of their life together and Demelza found she needed that reassurance, very much.

“It’s not as nice as the boarding house in St Joseph—” he began apologetically.

“—It’s clean, dry and warm,” she interrupted, smiling up at him. The sparse light from the lantern cast his face in alternating light and shadow, and made his eyes glow with gold-green warmth. “And I’m here with you.”

“Demelza,” he said simply, stepping close and kissing her with enough longing to make her sigh against his mouth. “I’ll set the fire while you put our things away?” he said, a little huskily.

She rubbed her cheek against his, the soft hair making her toes curl in her shoes. “Yes, Ross,” she murmured, brushing his lips with hers.

They spent the next several moments tending to their duties. Ross’s knees gave an audible crack as he knelt before the stove. She settled their belongings in the small chest of drawers near the bed and laid out his shaving kit by the washstand. When she turned, she caught sight of him as he added a small log to the fire. His body was silhouetted against the growing light; rugged, strong and virile. Why had Jefferson picked her out of all of the other women on the train to target? She was clearly a woman very happily married to a strong and capable man. Was it the challenge of it?

Or had she done something to encourage him? The thought of that possibility sickened her because  she didn’t think she had. Then again, she also didn’t think she’d done anything to encourage Colin to pursue her the way he had. And yet he’d done so.

A part of her told her she needed to tell Ross, despite the bastard’s threats. Once again, she snuck a glance at her husband, who stood and stretched, idly whistling the tune from their dance through his teeth. He’d sworn to protect her on the day they married. But then she thought of Geoffrey Charles, thought of the responsibility Ross had placed in her hands when they first met and agreed to go through with the marriage. “Required to see to his welfare.” Wouldn’t part of his welfare be sharing her concerns about _all_ of their safety?

“Demelza?” Ross’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts with a jerk and her eyes flew up to his, dark and concerned. “I’ve been calling your name for the past several moments, my dear. What is troubling you?”

“I-I,” she stammered, trying to gather her thoughts, to think things through.

“It’s Jefferson, isn’t it?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

 _Tell him!_ a voice screamed in her ear. “It’s nothing, Ross. I’m just very tired.”

He frowned, and she was certain he was about to challenge her on the matter before he unfolded his arms and drew her against his chest. She swallowed a lump that had grown in her throat and wrapped her arms around his waist. She breathed him in, the scent of the man she loved beyond reason and prayed she’d made the right decision.

“Let’s get some sleep, my dear,” he murmured in her ear, “and we’ll see things a bit clearer in the morning.”

 

Sunrise found Demelza nestled luxuriantly into the mattress of the first bed she’d slept in in over two months, doing her best not to disturb the sleeping man next to her. She hadn’t had very many opportunities to look at Ross as he slept since they’d been on the trail and propped her head in her hand to drink in the sight before her.

The sun slipped through the slats of the shutters, settling on the strands of copper in his wildly tousled black hair and making them shimmer. The strong brows, motile and expressive when he was awake, were relaxed, giving him a youthful appearance, despite his well-kept beard. It was the only time he ever looked vulnerable, and she relished the privilege she had as his wife to experience it. And as much as she enjoyed watching him in repose, his eyelids and long lashes obscured the beautiful eyes she’d fallen in love with, almost from the moment they’d met, when all the colours composing their hazel brilliance had simmered with temper. She pressed her cheek against the pillow, smiling warmly with remembrance.

His mouth was slightly open, the fullness of his bottom lip tempting her, making her yearn to run her tongue along it. His broad chest rose and fell under her palm and she touched the tip of her finger to the terra-cotta nipple closest to her, its peak rising in response. He snuffled, brow furrowing briefly before he sighed and pulled her closer.

Ross had turned to her the night before, his need evident as he spooned against her back, flexing his hips against her buttocks. She’d pleaded exhaustion and begged his forgiveness, which he’d happily given. And it was true, she was very tired, but she was also still trying to come to terms with what had happened with Jefferson. Now, as she admired the man she loved, she grew angry with herself for allowing the bastard to keep her from her husband. That ended, now.  

She drew the blankets down, her eyes following the thin line of hair down his belly to where it flared to the thicket surrounding his genitals. His cock lay flaccid against his testicles and she brushed her knuckles across his flesh. It jerked in response and she grinned, looking back up the length of his body before slipping between his legs and taking him into her mouth.

“’Melza.” He came awake, murmuring incoherently as his cock pulsed, filled and stiffened against her tongue. She stroked him, cupping the heavy fullness of his scrotum, her thumb rubbing along the wrinkling, undulating skin that tightened as his arousal grew. “God, oh God,” he moaned, shifting against the mattress as she wrapped her arms around his thighs. She used her nails to lightly scratch the hollows of his buttocks as they tensed with his movements. His fingers threaded her hair, making her sigh against his rigid flesh. She delighted in the bitter, grassy taste of the tiny beads of his seed leaking from the tip of his cock. She tongued the slit to tease even more, his panting sighs making her pulse thrum fast and deep within her quim.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, tightening his grip on her hair.

She released him from her mouth with a pop and lifted her eyes to stares up the muscular length of him, meeting his dark eyes. “Yes, Ross?” she murmured, her lips kissing the tip of his cock. Her saliva glistened in the sunlight, and she ran her tongue along the thick vein that ran along the underside of him.

His breath hissed between his teeth. “Enough, now,” he stated, reaching down to pull her up and over until he was atop her, kissing her with barely contained lust, his tongue surging deep and urgent as it mated with hers.  His hands cupped her breasts, stoking and pinching her nipples, sending jolts of searing need through her. He rubbed his cock between the lips of her sex, the head nudging against her clit, making her gasp against his mouth. “The heat of you,” he said darkly, nuzzling her jaw with the tip of his nose, tonguing the sensitive skin behind her ear. He ground his hips against hers. “You like that, yes?”

God, she lived for it, rubbing herself against his rigid flesh, tilting her hips in an attempt to take him inside her. “Yes, I love it, Ross.” _I love you._ “So much.” He growled softly, nipped her earlobe and, with a knowing smile, slid down her body to suckle her breasts. Her hands cradled his head while she trembled at his tongue’s rasping caress, the rhythmic pull of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive peaks of her nipples. She closed her eyes, writhing against the edge of stinging pleasure he caused with his actions.

He pursed his lips, softly blowing against the stiffened, heated peaks, making them pearl tighter. “Ah, you like that as well, don’t you, Demelza?”

She nodded frantically, doing all she could to draw him back to her breast. She opened her eyes to find his, ardent on her face. She knew what was next, mewling as he eased down the mattress, caressing her belly and hips until his chin rested on her mound. Black and russet blending, the contrast erotic, but not as much as the intensity of his amber gaze.

The tip of his nose nuzzled her curls. “I love the scent, the taste of you, Demelza,” he murmured, his hands pressing her thighs apart. His eyes were hot, fixed upon her flesh. She suffered a moment of insecurity from his intimate scrutiny until he stroked the length of her inner folds with his finger. She groaned, moving her hips to press against his touch. “So beautiful,” he breathed. He slid the finger deep into her body, the muscles of her quim tightening around it involuntarily. “Hungry for me.”

She nodded frantically. “Y-Yes.”

He pinned her with his eyes as he removed the finger, glistening with moisture, and pressed it to her open lips. She whimpered as she took it into her mouth, tasting and licking her body’s dew, head spinning with the eroticism of the act. She wrapped her tongue around it, as if she were tasting him, loving him with her mouth and heard him growl.

She opened her eyes when he pulled his hand from her mouth, caressing its way back down her body, pinching her nipple lightly along the way, watching as he lowered his mouth to claim, to possess her. His tongue flicked against the engorged head of her clit, making her shoulders lurch away from the pillow. He settled between her legs and fed, his tongue rough against the swollen lips of her sex, drinking in the dew of her arousal. The brush of his beard against the inside of her thighs made her writhe against his touch.

Too much. Much too much. “Please, Ross…inside me, please,” she panted, tugging on his hair. He raised his head, smiled and crawled up to surge deep into the torrid heat of her, capturing her mouth with his, swallowing her cries as she came. Shimmering waves of pleasure coursed within her, across her skin. He shared the musky essence of her quim with her, on his tongue, lips, and beard and it heightened her pleasure. The friction of his cock made her wild, as he filled her again and again.

His. She was his and he was hers. Demelza tore her mouth from his, meeting his fiery gaze with her own. “I would ride you, now,” she hissed softly. His eyes widened and he groaned, grasping her hips, shifting them both until she sat astride him, his cock pressed deep within her. She circled her hips, squeezing and stroking his cock with the walls of her sex. His fingers dug into the flesh of her hips and buttocks, hard enough to leave bruises. She gasped, tossing her head, sending her tangled, curling hair rippling down her arched back and looked down at him. His eyes burned, dark through his lashes.

“Cinnamon girl,” he whispered, furrowing his brow and squeezing his eyes shut as she jerked against him.

Jefferson’s leering smile intruded, unwelcomed, in her mind and fury at his presence between she and Ross in that moment boiled up within her. _No!_ she thought to herself. _He will not take that from me._ Demelza’s nails pressed into the skin of Ross’s chest hard enough to leave marks, but she paid it no heed, despite the hissing exclamation he made. She raised her hands to cup and squeeze her breasts, wild and completely uninhibited as gasping sighs left her throat. “Come with me, darling mine.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Ross groaned as he closed his eyes, arched his back and came hard inside her. She felt his seed flood her quim as he jerked and convulsed against her and tumbled after him, sobbing his name over and over with each involuntary quiver within. She collapsed atop him, nestling her head in the curve of his neck. She kissed him near his ear, tasting the sweat of their lovemaking, shivering as their skin cooled in the morning air.

“I love you, Demelza,” he croaked.

She thought she’d imagined the words, filtering in through the satiated haze that surrounded her. “Ross?” she asked, raising her head, “what di—” Her eyes widened as she met his, whiskey-gold, adoring. “Oh, Ross!”

He kissed her, wrapping his arms around her and turning them until he lay in the cradle of her hips. “I love you, my darling, cinnamon girl.” He lowered his head to rest against her neck and she wept then, her arms slipping around his waist to cling to him.

“I love you, too, Ross,” she choked. He propped himself on his elbows, kissing and brushing away her tears as she laughed and cried. She squeezed him tight, pressing his chest and neck with kisses before she lay back against the pillow, stroking his cheek and brushing his hair back away from his face, warm in the knowledge that _she_ was responsible for the way he gazed at her. She stroked her thumb against his bottom lip and laughed when he nipped at it. “I love you so.”

He slipped from the liquid depths of her body, pulled her tight against him and enveloped her in his arms before his mouth captured hers once again.

~*~*~*~*~*

Ross peered across the courtyard through the bright afternoon sun, amazed at the tapestry of humanity he saw before him. Soldiers, dressed in their dark blue uniforms, the colourful garb worn by the natives, and the sheer cacophony of voices speaking different languages and different accents. Ft. Laramie was one of the major stopping points along the trail, a crossroads between cultures: Blacks, English, Irish, Scots, Germans, Swedes, Cheyenne, and Sioux. Up until 1854 that cultural mixing had been relatively amicable, until a cow wandered away from a group of Mormon travelers and into a village of one thousand Brule Sioux natives who awaited the annuities offered them to keep the peace. The cow was promptly butchered for food.

The owner complained to the fort commander, who sent Lieutenant John Grattan of the Sixth Infantry, along with a half-breed interpreter and twenty-eight enlisted men to locate and arrest the persons responsible. The parlay was making progress until the soldiers opened fire, killing an important chief. The tribe retaliated, resulting in the deaths of Grattan and his entire command. Subsequent efforts were attempted to settle the situation over the months to come, suffering more failure than success.

The Grattan Massacre marked the beginning of the end for peaceful times between whites and the Sioux Indians. It was now commonplace for parties of Native Americans to attack westbound trains as the emigration cut further and further into native lands.

Tensions between the Cheyenne and the soldiers at Laramie were heating up after the imprisonment and death of one of their people at the fort, and as May eased towards June, the émigrés in camp grew more restless and edgy. The Poldark-Enys party had little more than a week before they were to resume their trip west and they’d had the trailmasters for two other trains ask to join them for the rest of the push through Wyoming.

Ross had been content with the informal nature of governance over the train, but this most recent request – and others – had forced him to consider more formal alternatives. He raised his head and narrowed his eyes in the direction of one of the other reasons for this shift in thinking. Grant Jefferson and his brother-in-law Jacob Fellows were carrying one of the wheels from their wagon across the courtyard back from the smithy’s. It had bent the iron tire two days outside of the fort and required a more permanent fix to continue on.

“Afternoon, Ross,” Jacob said, tipping his hat courteously. Soft spoken and kind, Fellows, his wife and children were one of the party’s favourite families, bringing music and song to their evenings almost nightly since the jumping off point. They were nearing the end of their journey west, with plans to settle in Casper, Wyoming. Ross would be sad to see them go, however one of the positives about this was that Grant Jefferson would leave at the same time. He cut his eyes at Jefferson, who tipped his hat and lingered with his gaze, a cocky half-smile creasing his face.

It took everything within him to keep from growling. Could Ross tolerate the swaggering bastard’s presence for another seventeen days? He swore under his breath, pulled his hat down low on his brow and stepped off the boardwalk to head to see Richard.

As he walked, he scanned the crowd in the hopes of seeing his wife’s thick red plait or hearing her tinkling laughter. She and Helen MacGowan were visiting the general store to make arrangements for restocking the foodstuffs. They had heard rumours of the impending arrival of smoked hams and bacon and insisted they ensure their place at the top of the list for orders.

The fact that the smithy’s forge was located two doors down from the general store had nothing to do with Ross’s sudden desire to visit Richard, not by any stretch of the imagination.

He climbed the steps in front of the store and his ears pricked up when he heard her laugh. _No sense in lying to myself,_ Ross thought. _I’m besotted._

The admissions they’d made to one another their first morning in Laramie had wrapped them both in a gauzy haze that they’d been able to keep to themselves, for the better part of a week. It wasn’t until he’d been down at the bath house with Drake and Dwight when the doctor made a slightly off-colour remark about the scratches Ross had along his left shoulder blade. Drake had muttered something about doors and walls not being much better than tent flaps that he’d realized they might have to wait until they reached Washington before they had the kind of privacy they’d need to be as expressive as they liked.

Thick, well-insulated walls. Of stone, perhaps. He chuckled and stepped into the store.

“Good day, ladies,” he greeted, “you both look lovely this afternoon!” He doffed his hat to Helen and winked at his wife who, hearing his voice, had jerked her head up from the fabric she was pondering.

“Ross!” she said, flashing him a brilliant, heart-stopping smile he knew he returned in kind, if her blush was any indication.

He leaned close, brushing her cheek with his lips. “I’ve missed you, love,” he whispered in her ear, slipping his hand along her lower back to rest low on her hip. “What do you have there?”

“Some of the prettiest calico I’ve ever seen,” she replied, holding up the deep burgundy patterned fabric. “I thought it would make a nice dress for Helen here.”

“Demelza, no,” Helen laughed, shaking her head. “I’d just as soon save it for something to wear after the bairn is born.” She laid her hand atop the now-noticeable bulge at her waist. “I can make do with what I have for now.”

“Yes, for now, my dear,” Demelza agreed, “however, you should take advantage of having a seamstress in the party while you can.” She pouted a bit and he found it endearing. “I still wish the three…well, four of you were continuing up to Bush Prairie with us.”

“I’m to understand Tenino is not that far from the prairie,” Helen said softly. “Perhaps we can visit you?”

Ross grinned. “You and your family will always be welcome in our home, Helen.” He glanced out of the window and saw Richard’s shoeing customer leave the forge. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to meet with your husband, Dwight, and Graves.” He turned to his wife. “I shall be late this evening. Will you be alright wrangling the boys for supper?”

She nodded. “Frederick Jackson took them fishing with Glenn, Jessie, and Malcolm.” Ross frowned. The fishing was best outside of the fort on the Laramie River and he was uneasy about any of the children traveling outside of the walls of Laramie without sufficient chaperoning. “And before you ask, Ruiari and Steven went along with them.”

“Good,” he nodded, satisfied. Ruairi Sheehan and Steven Judge were amiable men and excellent shots, and Jackson, who was a head taller than himself, was no slouch when it came to knowing his way around firearms.

“There’s to be a fish fry out by our wagons this evening,” Helen said cheerfully.

“Is that so?” Ross asked, his mind whirling. This could be the perfect opportunity for them to discuss the governance issue. “I’ll make sure we are all there for the festivities.” He kissed her. “Until this evening, then.” The ladies waved at him as he nodded back at them from the door.

Ross shared Demelza’s wish for the MacGowans to join them on the prairie. He’d found in Richard a kindred spirit, well read with a rich sense of humour and a desire to seek out the opportunities available in this bountiful new land. He would miss Richard’s friendship when they parted company. He heard the heavy clanging of metal on metal and smiled when he saw his friend swinging his hammer. As he approached, the smithy flattened a square bar of metal on the anvil, lengthening the metal and reducing its depth.

Ross removed his hat as he stepped into the heat of the forge. “What are you making, Richard?” he called out above the clanging.

Richard glanced up and grinned. “I’m working on a set of chisels for Joshua Robinson.” He gestured towards several different lengths of metal, varying in width and shape on a nearby bench.

Ross arched his brows. “Truly? “ He picked up one of the blades, impressed by the craftsmanship already apparent in the tool. “This is marvelous work, Richard.” His friend smiled. “So, he is a carpenter?”

“More than that, Ross,” Richard said, returning the metal to the heat. “He’s a bloody architect.”

“Are you serious?” he blinked, very surprised.

Richard shrugged. “Well, if not an architect, then the closest thing we’ll see to one out here. He’s got a little book of drawings, ranging from home furnishings all the way to cabins and houses.” He removed the metal and pounded on it a few more times before plunging it into the water bucket, hissing steam erupting like a cloud around them. “Dwight has been trying to encourage him to share his drawings to you, since you’ll be looking to build your house as soon as you secure your land.”

“You’re right about that.” _Serendipity_ , Ross thought to himself.

“I’ve asked him to design something for us to use for Helen to sleep on for the rest of her confinement,” Richard said, and Ross noticed how his friend’s eyes would soften, the colour deepened when he spoke of his tiny wife. “We have enjoyed the bed in the lodge house too much for her to sleep on the ground any longer.” He paused, realizing what he’d said and grew even redder in the face than he’d been from the heat. “That came out wrong.”

Ross barked with laughter and patted Richard on the shoulder. “I understood your meaning. Can you show me what he’s come up with?”

“Joshua said he would have it finished by this evening.” Richard shifted his gaze to fall over Ross’s shoulder. “Dwight!” Ross turned to see the doctor raising his hand in greeting, lengthening his stride to enter the forge. “I was telling Ross about the bed Joshua is working on for Helen.”

Dwight smiled brightly. “He’s very excited to get started on a project,” he said. “Ross, are you coming over to the wagons tonight? I want to reintroduce you to Joshua.”

Ross nodded. “I will, and look forward to it. In the meantime, gentlemen, I want to finalize our proposal for the party’s governance.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They had to say those three little words at some point.... I hope you liked it! Thanks again for all of your continuing support! :-)
> 
> [Annie Laurie in Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Annie_Laurie)  
> [Fort Laramie Site History](https://www.nps.gov/fola/learn/historyculture/upload/FOLA_history.pdf) from the Fort Laramie National Historic Site website


	20. Business and Governance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

“I’ll be by in about an hour, Dwight,” Ross called over his shoulder. “I must check to see if Demelza needs anything from me before the festivities start.”

“See you soon,” Dwight said, waving and watched as his friend made his way through the crowd over towards the location where his wagon, sporting a fresh coat of blue paint, wagon stood. All of the travelers who had secured lodging for their stay at Fort Laramie had been stored towards the livestock area. They were now being staged for departure in a mere six days.

It was hard to believe they’d been at rest for over a week and in the space of that time their train had doubled in size. The decision to invite the Ellingston and Stevenson trains to join theirs for the trip across Wyoming had been finalized. Their trailmaster, Abraham Grant, would remain with them and be joined by the Zeke Michaels from the Ellingston train. Marcus Kennedy from Stevenson would take a group of travelers heading eastward towards St Joseph.

Ross had shared the plan to vote for a wagon captain between the three trains and he’d agreed wholeheartedly with the concept. The process seemed to be less than formal, painfully straightforward, with no secrecy to cover where loyalties – or animosities – lie.

The candidates would present themselves, each to walk to a separate location in camp. The voting members – all men, of course, and Dwight couldn’t wait to hear Ross mention that to Demelza – then follow the man they wish to support for captain. The man with the most followers is designated captain. The remaining candidates would act as deputies and they would produce the code of conduct and bylaws for the wagon train prior to departure.

Dwight had immediately put himself out of contention for the position. As the only physician on the train his time was already not his own. Richard, whom both he and Ross agreed should run, had shaken his head. He would gladly support Ross’s candidacy, but wanted to focus his attention on Helen and her advancing pregnancy. The fish fry would be the perfect opportunity to announce the plan and give the families from the other trains a chance to get to know them better.

He scanned the area designated for their fish fry and found the Penvenen wagon, the bright and beautiful Caroline holding center court. Caroline had surprised him by proposing to host the event along side the Thibodauxes. He frowned before starting over in that direction. She was surprising him quite often these days.

She’d surprised him when he’d asked her to dinner their first night at the fort, accepting the invitation with an eagerness that caught him off guard. The pretty blush running up her neck to blossom in her cheeks had done things to his insides, stirred and jostled them, and he’d chalked it up to the lack of female companionship he’d endured for over two months. His memory of the evening’s conversation had been the cause of a few night’s restless sleep.

_He met her at their wagon and was not prepared for what he saw. She wore a pale blue silk dress, incongruous with their dusty, rugged location, with her hair pulled back in a simple plait.  She was a woman who could weave elegance and simplicity together in the most natural of ways, and he grinned with pleasure._

_“Doctor Enys,” she said sweetly._

_He took her hand, scented with lilies, and kissed her knuckles, giving it a squeeze. “I thought we’d settled on first names weeks ago, Miss Penvenen.”_

_She laughed. “Oh, I know, but this is the first time you’ve paid a call with the intent of taking me to supper, Dwight.” She smiled up at him and he was dazzled. “I thought I’d have a small jest.”_

_“I appreciate it very much,” Dwight said, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”_

_There were only two places to have a meal at the camp: the saloon or a kitchen that served breakfast, dinner, and supper. Good, hearty, and simple food, but with a quieter atmosphere, especially after seven o’clock. He’d asked for a table far away from the other guests to facilitate conversation. They were seated with their orders taken and returned to them within ten minutes._

_As they finished their beef stew, Dwight thought the time appropriate to mention what he’d planned to discuss. “Caroline, may I ask you a question about the Robinsons’ contract?”_

_“Oh, Dwight.” She set down her fork, abandoning the piece of apple pie in front of her, and pursed her lips. A line formed between her pretty brows. “I thought we’d already bickered our way through that topic weeks ago.”_

_He shook his head. “I don’t mean to argue again, I promise.” He searched her eyes to see if it was safe to proceed. She gave a small nod and he exhaled. “I don’t know if you are aware, but Joshua has a great deal of skill as a designer of household furnishings.”_

_She blinked. “Is that so?”_

_“Yes, quite skilled.” He masked his irritation behind his cup of coffee. Since their détente and subsequent interactions along the trail, he tried not to be urked at her lack of knowledge of the people who travelled alongside them, but remained mostly invisible to her. “As a matter of fact, I have asked him to share his design work with Ross and others in our company. I think it could help to position him for a lucrative career once we reach Bush Prairie.” He lifted his fork towards his mouth, and then paused. “You don’t imagine he’ll continue to want to serve you once there, do you?”_

_She finished chewing and swallowed. “Of course not, Dwight,” she snapped, setting the fork down with a clatter and reaching for her napkin._

_“Caroline, wait.” Dwight knew the preparations for a proper flounce when he saw it, and reached out to cover her hand. “I am sorry, very sorry for my last comment.” She met his gaze, her eyes darkened to slate-gray with temper. “That was rude of me and I’ve no excuse for it. Please forgive me.”_

_She took a deep breath and nodded. “Thank you, Dwight. I realize I am not as close to the Robinsons as you would like for me, but they are under my employ, not my friendship.”_

_“Is there something wrong with trying to find the balance between both, my dear?” She smiled at the endearment. It was Dwight’s turn to be off balance, and he felt it all the way down to his toes. Heat flooded his cheeks as he flushed. “That was rather forward of me, Caroline. I apol—”_

_“—I didn’t mind it, Dwight,” she interrupted and squeezed his hand._

_He swallowed, thankful for the table for hiding the evidence of the sudden rush of arousal he’d experienced at her touch._ It had been too long _, he thought to himself. He looked down at her hand and noticed the brilliant engagement ring she wore. She followed his gaze and, with a blush, released her hold._

_He cleared his throat. “In any event, Caroline, I wanted to ask you if you had any issues with Joshua meeting with potential clients, perhaps working on pieces he’s designed, during the remainder of our travels?”_

_“I don’t think that would be a problem, Dwight,” she said, “as long as it doesn’t cause him to shirk his responsibilities to Uncle Ray or me.”_

It had been a fair enough request, particularly given the nature of their relationship with her. And ever since she’d not expressed any concerns about Joshua’s burgeoning career. _Well, the true test would come in an hour or so_ , Dwight thought to himself and eagerly lengthened his stride.

“Dwight!” Caroline called, waving cheerfully. She was wearing a simple white shirtwaist with a chocolate brown skirt, an apron tied around her waist. She could have been mistaken as one of the other women from their train with the exception of the beautiful cameo she wore at her throat.

He felt a flutter somewhere near the vicinity of his stomach and cheerfully ignored it. “Caroline,” he said jovially. “Things seem to be well under control.” He noticed Flora Robinson and Annabelle Thibodaux busily mixing a massive bowl of cornmeal and spices together. “The dredge?”

Caroline glanced up at him in surprise. “You know what a dredge is?” He nodded. “I only learned the term a few moments ago myself.”

“You will be surprised, trust me,” he said, his stomach rumbling in anticipation. “It is delicious.”

“I will defer to your judgment, sir,” she said saucily.

He paused, grinning at her for what felt like hours until the clearing of a throat shook them from their staring. Flora Robinson peered up at both of them over her spectacles. She expertly schooled her expression concealed the impish questions Dwight knew she held behind her hazel eyes. “Miss Flora!” he said, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Oh, now, Doctor Dwight, you stop that,” she said, flapping the same hand at him. “You here to help with our fish fry, sir?”

“I’m here to help consume the fish that are fried, ma’am.”

She chuckled and winked. “Fair enough.” Her smile faded a bit when she looked in the direction of the lodge house. The Penvenens had rooms in the lodge along with the Poldarks and the MacGowans. “Your uncle had a difficult afternoon, Miss Caroline.”

Dwight frowned as Caroline stepped closer and touched Flora on the arm. “What happened, Flora?”

“His legs and ankles are swollen most of the time now, especially if he doesn’t get up and move around much,” she said. “He wasn’t feeling up to it today.”

“On those days,” Dwight advised, “keep his legs elevated and limit his intake of fluids.” Flora opened her mouth to object but he shook his head. “If he wants to drink fluids he must move. I insist.”

Flora pursed her lips, but nodded. “Yes, Doctor Dwight.” She glanced over at Annabelle Thibodaux. Her husband approached with a bucket of cleaned trout. “Time to get started.” She beetled a look at him and Caroline. “Y’all be sure to eat something, mind!”

He nodded. “Thank you, Miss Flora!” He turned to Caroline. “I shall go by in a little while and check on him,” he said, more to ease the look of worry from her face than anything else.

“Thank you, Dwight,” Caroline said softly. She was quiet for some time before she touched his forearm. “Dwight, how bad is he?”

He’d done all he could to keep the particulars from her, but Flora’s latest report made him realize the time for candor was now. “Flora has been doing wonders for him, Caroline,” he started. “However, the swelling is a sign of edema, and the possible failure of his kidneys.”

“Oh, Dwight,” she said. “I know enough that if his kidneys fail—”

“—We are far from that, Caroline,” he interrupted. He clasped her hand in his. “If we are able to get him up and moving, perhaps riding during the day, walking after meals, drastically reduce the use of salt in his food, it could diminish.”

“But not cure it,” she said. He shook his head. “How long do you think he has? Will he survive until we reach Washington?”

“I cannot say for certain, because your uncle is as stubborn a man as I’ve ever encountered.” She gave him a faint smile and it buoyed his mood. “But I would say I am beginning to have my doubts, my dear.”

She sighed, brushed a tear from her cheek and cleared her throat. “Thank you for your honesty, Dwight.”

He nodded soberly and handed her his handkerchief. “If the worst should happen, Caroline… would you continue west?”

“Yes, I would,” she said, dabbing at her eyes and nose. “I am still betrothed to Unwin. It wouldn’t be honorable to break that vow.” He noticed her eyes didn’t brighten when she mentioned her fiancé’s name as it once had.

Dwight bit his tongue, unwilling to voice the obvious. The inheritance of her uncle’s wealth, tied to the betrothal arrangement with Trevanance, would go directly to her upon her uncle’s demise.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Joshua pulled a fresh shirt from their trunk and slipped it over his head. It was the Sunday best shirt he’d last worn back in New York when he’d been searching for work in the weeks following his father’s death. He’d worn the shirt for the burial as well. They hadn’t been allowed at the funeral.

He felt a pang for a moment. During Gray Robinson’s last days, Joshua had been able to spend several hours with him, unbeknownst by the mistress of the house as well as his two half-brothers. In those few moments, when compared to all that had passed since Joshua’s birth, his father had been able to tell him exactly how he felt about his son, made of love. If there were anything his father was proud of, it was the fact his youngest child was a skilled craftsman, a designer of furnishings and buildings.

He wondered if his father was looking down upon him from heaven, knowing that within a few moments, everything he’d trained for in school and on that plantation would be tested? He hoped so, hoped he’d feel his presence as a comfort.

“Josh-honey?” a sweet voice called from outside the tent and he smiled.

“In here, Betsy,” he said, lifting the flap to let her in. She was six months younger than him, and by rights they should have all but grown up together except for the fact that her parents were both field slaves, dark skinned and considered too coarse to be a part of the household staff. It was discovered that Betsy had developed a keen eye for mending and sewing and, as a result, she was added to the laundry staff at the age of eleven. He’d seen her that first day and had fallen for her immediately.

His mother used to shake her head at him, as she watched him moon over the girl. “Just like your papa,” she’d say.

 _She was beautiful_ , Joshua mused. She wore her ebony hair very short, a mass of tiny spiral curls that gleamed in the sun. He loved the wide, dark brown eyes set against skin the color of walnuts and her full, sensual lips.

The mouth he stared at formed a wide, beaming smile that still had the power to make his heart flip in his chest. “Hello, Bet,” he murmured as she stepped close into his embrace. Their tent was their sanctuary, the one spot where the two of them could leave all of the strife that went along with being black in America, outside of the flap and simply be Josh and Bet, two people, in love.

His hands ran down the curve of her back to cup her buttocks, to pull her against him. They sighed, enjoying the taste and feel of one another until she drew back to look up at him. “Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish, Josh,” she said softly, giving his bottom lip a nibble.

“A prelude to this evening, I hope,” he said, giving her a final squeeze before releasing her. “Are they here?”

Betsy nodded. “Out there talking to Miss Caroline and mama,” she said, walking around behind him to check his hair. Earlier in the day, she’d insisted that they try to club it back for the occasion, but it looked ridiculous. They’d agreed on plaiting several of the locks at the sides to use to tie back the remainder. He closed his eyes and basked in her touch as she tidied what had loosened when he changed. “You got your notes together?”

“Yes, over on the bedroll.” He reached back to capture her hands and drew her around to face him. “Is this the right thing to do, honey?”

She frowned at him and planted her fists on her hips. Oh dear. “What are you hesitating, Joshua Humphrey?” Use of his full name. Not a good sign. “Miss Penvenen said it was alright for you to do this.”

“Once I get everything else I have to do for them done,” he said. He picked up the journals, squeezed them so the leather binding creaked. “Do you really want me to use what little free time we have working on this as well?” It was his biggest fear, that he’d wind up working himself to death, to eat into the time he and his wife could be in their world under the canvas, making love, talking about their future, speculating on when they might be blessed with a child.

He closed his eyes when she wrapped her hands around his as they held the book and pressed them to her chest. “Joshua, it is work that could be the start of something far beyond either of our wildest expectations, for you.” She kissed his knuckles. “For all of us.”

Joshua opened his eyes at these words. “What do you mean, for all of us?”

She ducked her head. “I’m not altogether positive, but I believe I’m carrying, Josh.”

“Bet.” Joy unlike any he’d ever experienced in life flooded through him as he felt tears spring into his eyes. He kissed her, dropping his journal onto the hard-packed earth, drawing her into his embrace. “H-How far?” he whispered.

“Just a little over a month, so that’s why I’m not certain,” she said, elated. “That’s why you need to do this, baby. For _our_ future.” She brushed his chin with her lips. “Not all white men are cruel and judgmental,” she observed. “You’ve been working real well with Mr MacGowan, right? You told me just the other day you liked him.”

It was true; he’d felt an odd, immediacy of comfort with the big Scot and appreciated the creativity he had when it came to his craft. The folding bed they’d worked on was almost finished and Joshua knew others would want one once they caught wind of it. “Yes, I do, very much, Bet,” he confirmed.

“And you’ve only spent a few moments with Mr Poldark, and not under the best of circumstances, but I remember he was thoughtful, and listened well.” She pressed her hand to his chest. “Give it a chance, Josh, for me?”

“I will, for both of you.” He cupped her cheeks in his hands and kissed her with all of the love in his heart, then pressed his hand to her abdomen. Joshua heard Doctor Dwight’s voice call his name and Betsy stepped back from his embrace.

She picked up his book, dusted it off and gave it a kiss. “Good luck, Joshua.”

 

“Good evening, Mr Robinson,” Ross Poldark said in a warm, deep voice and held out his hand. “I’m pleased to have this opportunity to better our acquaintance.”

Joshua hesitated for a second before clasping Poldark’s hand. “Mr Poldark, the pleasure is mine, sir,” he said, hoping he sounded self-assured. The grip was strong, confident, the hand of a man not afraid of hard work, judging by the calluses he detected. “Please call me Joshua.”

The corner of Poldark’s mouth twitched. “Dwight told me you would insist upon that, Joshua.” He released Joshua’s hand and removed his hat. The man’s eyes were striking, blazing in the setting sun’s light. “I will do so only if you call me Ross…or Mr Ross, if you prefer. But know I would prefer the former, but respect your need for the latter.”

Joshua exhaled, feeling relief and more than a little admiration for the man before him. “I thank you, sir… Mr Ross,” he said, smiling.

Poldark gave a short nod. “I understand you are an architect.”

Joshua blinked. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that, si…Mr Ross.” His hand tightened on his journal. “I’ve got some sketches of buildings I helped to…”

“Design and oversee building,” Poldark finished for him. “In my way of thinking, that makes you an architect.” Joshua felt heat rise in his cheeks and cursed the fairness of his skin for making it obvious for all to see. “I would greatly appreciate taking a look at your drawings, Joshua.” He held out a hand. “May I?” Joshua handed him the journal, circling around to stand next to him to describe the pieces reflected on its pages. Poldark sounded impressed by many of the drawings, taking special note of the folding bed he was constructing for MacGowan. “I was over at MacGowan’s wagon and he showed me the finished product. Very inventive, Joshua.”

“Thank you, sir,” he smiled. “It’s been a real pleasure working with Mr Richard. He’s very talented.” He paused then stepped back into the tent to pick up the chisel set to show Poldark. “His gift to me for the work. I’ve never seen a more beautiful set of chisels in all my days.”

Poldark took them in his hands, turning them in admiration. The metal gleamed, their edges sharpened to perfection. “He’s left the handles for you to prepare, I take it?”

“Yes,” Joshua confirmed, carefully gathering the blades from Poldark’s hands and rolling them in a scrap of buckskin. “I have some pretty pieces of maple that will work just fine for the job.”

Poldark nodded, then returned his attention to the book. He stopped when they reached the page with sketch of a simple cottage and tilted the book towards the fading light to better see it. “This is the one Dwight and Richard mentioned, yes?” he asked. “The one that could be built within weeks?”

“Yessir,” Joshua said. “I took one of the slave cabins we had on Edgewater and expanded it, refined it.” He paused, thinking about the timeline. “As long as we had adequate materials, clear weather, at least three able-bodied men to assist with construction it could be built in a month.”

“And it would accommodate a family of four and…” Poldark paused, stroking his beard and appearing to be embarrassed. “A family of four including two young boys and a _newly_ wedded couple?”

Their eyes met and the two men laughed. “Yessir, Mr Ross,” Joshua chuckled, “it would do.” He tentatively pointed to the sketch, about one third of the way. “We could extend it a few feet more and include a wall here.” He then drew a line under the the roofline. “We could also add to the height of the structure, a few feet, mind, and include a loft along with a room downstairs. It would add another week, maybe two to the build, but it’s doable, sir.”

Poldark smiled, and it dazzled. “This is perfect, Joshua. Simply perfect!” Joshua laughed as the man hammered on his back with joy. “I imagine it will take some time to clear the land, depending on the platte that’s available, of course. But I need a home to shelter my family before the snow begins to fly, and another shelter for the animals. I’ve enough experience to manage the animal’s barn. This here,” he said, nodding to the sketch, “will do very nicely for my family.”

Poldark turned the page and stopped, mouth agape. It was an idea Joshua had toyed with for years after seeing buildings with their ornate plaster work, Grecian columns and complicated iron work, to design a house that relied on the simplicity of its lines to convey the grace and beauty of its construction. It featured low-pitched rooflines and overhanging eaves, with a front porch underneath an extension of the main roof. The sketch was for a single story home, but he thought there could be ways to make a second story work, with a few dormers.

Joshua shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Er…Mr Ross, sir?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Poldark said, his voice reedy. “What of this one? What would be required for this?”

“Oh…sir… t-this is just something I’ve played with,” Joshua stammered. “I never thought to actually build one.”

“But if you were to do so, what would you need?”

Joshua looked into Poldark’s eyes, and found them fevered and exhilarated. “More men, at least…” he paused to calculate. “We’d need at least ten, and they would need to be skilled craftsmen, for some of the details would require specialized skills. Supplies and good weather, I believe it could be accomplished in three to four months, Mr Ross.” He read the excitement on the man’s face and held out his hands. “Again, sir, this is something I hadn’t thought to build until I’d been in business for many, many years. And had much more experience.”

“Do you think you could do it?” Poldark pressed. “If money and materials were of no concern?”

Joshua looked over Poldark’s shoulder to find Dwight, Caroline and Betsy looking back at him, varying expressions of shock and amazement on their faces. “The main stumbling block would be the men, sir. The kind I’m thinking of don’t come cheap.”

Poldark handed Joshua the book back and crossed his arms. “If I could get them there, do you think you could lead them?”

Joshua took a step back, shocked. He was speechless with a wild mixture of emotions ranging from terror to elation. This man was offering him the chance of a lifetime, based on the skills he’d demonstrated in his drawing and – undoubtedly – the word of his friends. But how could he overlook the biggest obstacle to this endeavor? Joshua found his voice and asked the question. “Do you think they’d follow a nigger, sir?”

Poldark blinked, brows drawn down over the word. “First of all, Joshua, let that be the very last time I ever hear of you referring to yourself -- or anyone else, for that matter -- as a…well, _that_. Is that clear?” Joshua nodded, not trusting his throat. “And second, with my boot at their backs?” Poldark extended his hand once again. Joshua tentatively reached forward and found his arm being shaken nearly out of the socket. “They’d bloody well better!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Well, it came together quicker than I thought it would! I've got the next chapter partially outlined so I'm hoping to get this one finished before the show starts up again. OK... it's not a hope. It WILL be done before the show starts. I promise.
> 
> And I know... not a lot of bow-chicka-wow-wow in this. But I've a tale to tell... :-)
> 
> Many thanks to my buddy rainpuddle13 for her continued support and beta work on this project! The story wouldn't be half what it is without her involvement. And thank you, everyone, for your continued support of this story!


	21. Captain Poldark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Demelza slid the last two pins into her hair when she overheard a commotion coming from down the hall. She cast her eyes up towards the heavens, looped her watch around her neck, gathered her shawl and walked out the door. The noise grew louder as she approached. It pinched at the ache that had settled behind her eye since the morning. She rapped her knuckles hard on the hard oak surface of the door, muttering an oath under her breath at the sting.

The noise ceased. She turned the handle, walked into the room and gaped. Feathers. Everywhere she looked, a sea and sky of feathers. The bed had been jostled away from the wall, chairs overturned and a table was on its side, a crack in the top. Standing amidst the carnage were her two boys, Drake and Geoffrey Charles. “What….wha…” she stammered, her temper rising to the boiling point in seconds. “Explain.” They stared at her, eyes as wide as saucers. “ _Now_.”

“W-we were looking for the cat,” Geoffrey Charles blurted, then sneezed.

She wasn’t certain she’d heard him properly. “Excuse me, did you say cat?” He nodded. “What cat?”

“The cat we found out near the munitions build—” Drake started.

“—She had kittens!” Geoffrey Charles exclaimed. “So we thought we’d bring them along with us to Washington!”

Demelza was gobsmacked. Why they had been anywhere near the munitions building was beyond her. This would very likely result in hell to pay when Ross was informed of the situation. “What about this?” she barked, spreading her hands to encompass the wreckage. The air had settled enough for her to see they’d only managed to burst one of the pillows, making her thankful for that small mercy. It was at this point that a movement from under the bed caught her eye; a tiny down-covered lump came stumbling out into the room, emitting a loud, strident meow. A louder meow came from the other side of the bed. Demelza shut the door and carefully moved through the room, doing her best not to disturb the feathers on the floor, failing miserably with her skirts. She peered around the bed, finding a pretty calico cat sitting at attention with two other kittens at her feet, meowing for her lost baby.

Demelza smiled; she couldn’t help it. She walked back, scooping up the lost kitten, brushing away the feathers to uncover a fluffy black and white ball of fur that meowed ferociously at her. “Oh! Aren’t you a terror,” she crooned, walking over to where the mother cat sat, clearly nervous about the goings on. “I can’t imagine that you and your babies are responsible for the destruction of the pillows,” she said to the cat, arching a look over her shoulder to the boys. She settled the kitten at its mama’s feet. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

The story unfolded under her dour glare. They’d come up with some of the food they’d had for supper to feed the cat, but couldn’t find her. They began to carefully move furnishings around, but as their panic had grown, so had the energy they’d put into disrupting the room. The final straw happened when Drake had scrambled onto the table to see if they had climbed atop the wardrobe, her nephew standing by with a pillow to catch them. The table wobbled, Geoffrey Charles dropped the pillow and both boys hit the floor, the pillow splitting under their combined weight.

She gestured towards the cats. “Well, evidently, you were able to locate her. Where were they?” Demelza asked, glaring at the boys through her lashes.

“Inside the wardrobe,” Geoffrey Charles mumbled, clearly reading the mood being telegraphed from her eyes.

She was about to pass sentence – boxing up their feline friends, cleaning up the room and discussing what the addition of four more mouths in their party would mean for them in the way of chores, care and feeding – when Ross walked into the room. The look on his face was thunderous. He stood in the threshold making loud, incoherent utterances that caused the boys to stand closer and hold one another’s hands.

“Ross, sweetheart,” she said, whirling to press her palms against his chest. “I’ll get this sorted. You go on down to the wagons for the meeting, yes?” He sneezed explosively, making all three of them jump. She covered her laugh with a cough before touching his cheek to draw his attention away from the lads. His eyes were filled with dismay, fury, and so much incredulity that made the corner of her mouth twitch. “Go, love.”

Ross sneezed once again, then shook his head before brushing a kiss on her temple. He gave the boys one last look of  angry, parental disappointment which, she noticed, made them hang their heads at the same time, muttered the words “Goddamn feathers!” under his breath and stalked down the hall.

 

Thirty minutes later, Demelza marched her two young men out of the entrance of the lodge house. “After the meeting, the two of you are to go straight to your room. Ross will be up to speak with both of you before bed.”

Drake shrugged his shoulder out from under her grasp. “To _speak_ to us?” he said mulishly.

Demelza froze, her temper rising once again. “Stop right there, Drake,” she snapped.

Her brother froze in his tracks and turned to face her. Geoffrey Charles stumbled against her leg in her abrupt halt to their progress. “Auntie?” he murmured, a tinge of fear in his voice.

“Just a moment, honey,” Demelza said gently, her heart squeezing in her chest at the meekness of his voice. She took hold of the hand he’d wrapped around a pleat of her skirt, pulling him close to her side, then looked her brother square in the eye. “Ross isn’t that kind of a person, Drake,” she scolded. “You should know that by now. I never would have married him if I thought he’d ever raise a hand to either of us, or the lad.”

An uncomfortable silence passed between brother and sister. Drake sighed. “I know that,” he said, apologetically.

“Thank you,” Demelza said, softly.

“He’s been more than good to us, to me, especially me since I was an unexpected surprise.”

Demelza grinned, stroking his cheek. He’d grown in the nearly five months since they’d left New York, and the good, steady meals had helped to fill in some of the gauntness on his frame. “You’ve been such a help, Drake. I don’t know how we would have managed this journey without you.”

He slanted her a grin, offering her his arm. She laughed and gladly took hold and they continued down the path towards the gathering. “You’re happy with him?” he asked.

“So very happy, Drake,” she beamed. “I love him, very much.”

He smiled, patting the hand she’d tucked in his arm. “Good thing I showed you that advertisement.”

She laughed, tousled Geoffrey Charles’s hair and they quickened their pace towards the staging area.

Demelza found Ross leaning up against Dwight’s wagon, a cheroot in his teeth. He tapped it out as he watched them approach, eyes gleaming at her before darkening as they latched onto the boys. He frowned. Both of them eased their way around behind her and she resisted the urge to chuckle at their feeble attempts to hide.

“Good evening, Dwight,” she said, giving the doctor’s arm a squeeze before slipping her hand through her Ross’s proffered elbow, being certain to nestle her breast against the back of his arm. “Good evening, husband,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his jaw. _Bay rum and tobacco_ , she mused.

He crossed his arms, his hand brushing the side of her breast. “Don’t think you can use your feminine wiles on me and make me forget the mayhem I saw earlier,” he grumbled, but she saw a spark of humour smouldering in the depths of his amber eyes.

“It’s been sorted, Ross,” she said, a little shakily as his fingertips grazed her nipple.  “Although a good glower and some ideas for chores would be helpful.”

He grinned. The slightly feral nature of it made her nibble her bottom lip. “Nothing too awful, agreed?”

He popped a piece of peppermint candy into his mouth. “Agreed,” he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. “Hush now, darling. Mr Graves is about to start.”

Mr Graves climbed up onto the back of the Sheehan’s wagon and called for attention. “Good evening, everyone! We are gathered here to vote upon a captain for our expanded wagon train. As you all know, the Cheyenne have had a dispute with the soldiers at the fort. Efforts to negotiate a settlement have not been as productive as they’d hoped. We will be crossing Cheyenne lands between here and Casper, with twenty wagons and fifty-six souls to protect along the way. We have decided there is strength in numbers. As a result, we need to formalize the governance system for our rolling community.”

He went on to describe the wagon captain’s roles and responsibilities before outlining the selection process. Ross had shared this with her the night before when he’d indicated his intention of running.

_“Honestly, it’s not much more than what I’ve already been doing since we left Missouri,” he muttered irritably, arching a look at her from over his shoulder as he removed his boots. “I don’t know why you are upset about this.”_

_“I know, Ross,” she grumbled, continuing to pack away some of the clean clothes they’d received from the laundry into their carpetbag and trunk. They would be taking them down to the wagon in the morning. “You’re already doing the job. You always take the lion’s share of the watch shifts whenever someone begs off. You act as ar..ar… what is that word?”_

_“Arbiter?” he offered._

_“Yes, arbiter over disputes. Why is there a need to make a public spectacle out of it?” she groused, closing the trunk. In truth, she was scared. The thought of being back out on the trail with Jefferson had begun to chip away at the tidy bubble of security she’d had since being at the fort. She’d been pleased he hadn’t attempted to approach her since they arrived. With hundreds of soldiers on the premises, the Indians she’d met, and the ability to spend leisurely time with Helen, Caroline, and the boys without the usual hustle and bustle of their lives on the trail had all leant her a feeling of safety and stability that she’d more than enjoyed: she’d flourished in it._

_Demelza was certain that would change once they were back on the road. Clearly the bastard had a healthy dislike of her husband, and she knew Ross was more than willing to beat the man senseless given the slightest provocation. By publicly running for captaincy, she worried Ross was painting a bull’s-eye on his back, giving Grant Jefferson one more thing to stew over. The added hostilities with the Cheyenne would have everyone on edge for the next ten or so days. All she wanted was to make it through to Casper and to see the back of Jefferson for good._

_She picked up her brush, running it through her freshly washed hair. “Why didn’t Richard or Dwight volunteer?”_

_He huffed out a breath and began unbuttoning his waistcoat. “Dwight’s hands are already full with doctoring our twenty-odd folks. With over fifty? He won’t have time.” He stalked over to the washstand, poured fresh water into the ewer.  “As for Richard, he’s Helen to worry after,” he said, cupping his hands to sluice water on his face._

_“Yes, of course, Helen,” she said softly. Helen was nearly five months pregnant and while the respite at Laramie had done her a world of good, they would be traveling at a faster pace than before, which Demelza knew would present significant challenges to her friend. The folding bed Richard and Joshua Robinson had created was a miracle, to be sure. They’d refitted some springs from a broken axle to allow the bed to have some give so she could lie down comfortably while they were travelling, but if anything the road ahead of them would be twice if not three times harder than what they’d already travelled. Glenn was an enormous help to his parents, but there was only so much a twelve year old could be relied upon to do._

_Demelza turned to see Ross rubbing the back of his neck, a habit she’d noticed whenever he was extremely tired. She joined him by the stove, placing her palm between his shoulder blades, delighting in the way he leaned in against her touch. “I’m sorry, love,” she murmured, lips pressed against his arm. She looked up at him to see him searching her face before lifting his arm and pulling her into his embrace._

_“Me too, Demelza,” he murmured against her temple. He took a deep breath against the the crown of her head, purring as he always did when she’d just washed her hair. It made her tingle, her desire for him warming her more than the fire in the stove. “I’ll not do it if it truly concerns you, but I honestly feel I’m the right man for the job.”_

_His voice was rough, coming low from his chest. “That’s the trouble, my love.” She kissed the base of his throat, her tongue catching a bead of water that trickled along the vein that pulsed there. “I_ know _you are.” She breathed in his scent before tilting her head back for his mouth to find hers._

Now, as the time grew near for the voting, Demelza pursed her lips, glancing at Ross from the side of her eyes. She was surprised to see a hint of nervousness cross his face. She tucked her arm in his and squeezed, pressing close. “I love you, peppermint man,” she mouthed.

All trace of nerves disappeared as he smiled brilliantly, brushing her cheek with his whiskery lips. “I love you too, cinnamon girl.” He clasped Dwight’s hand. “Wish me luck, friend.”

“Always,” Dwight said with a wink.

“Gentlemen, shall we begin?” Grant called.

Ross walked out into the centre of the gathering and stood in front of the wagon. “Ross Poldark,” he said, his voice carrying across the assembly. “Representing the Poldark-Enys train.” Two more men joined him, a brawny, brown-haired man by the name of Randall Ellingston and a tall, thin blond named Peter Stevenson. Ross had told her that Ellingston was in law enforcement and Stevenson was a farmer.  

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Graves said, nodding at the three men. “Now I ask you to go to three separate corners of the staging area.” Ross, Ellingston, and Stevenson shook hands and proceeded to walk to separate areas. As soon as they turned to face the crowd, Graves held up his hands for attention. “Now, for all of the rest of you men leading a wagon on this train! Go stand next to the candidate you support for wagon captain.”

Dwight grinned at Demelza and the boys then stepped forward to join his friend. Richard walked Helen and Glenn over to stand next to Demelza then quickened his pace to join the group that had gathered behind Ross. She was pleased to see Frederick Jackson, Johan Andersen, Ruairi Sheehan, Lesley Thibodaux had joined Ross, Dwight, and Richard. Caroline stepped forward and handed Graves a letter from her Uncle Raymond, declaring his support of Ross. Finally, Steven Judge jumped down from the bed of his wagon to join the Poldark candidacy.

“That…that makes eight, my dear,” Helen whispered happily in her Demelza’s ear. She smiled wanly, a furrow of concern developing on her brow. “Let me tally the others.”

Demelza watched as Helen counted the others, blinking twice when she saw Jacob Fellows and Grant Jefferson walk over to stand next to Ellingston. Well, she’d been certain that Jefferson would never support Ross, it saddened her to see the bastard’s brother-in-law following after the man. She shook her head and returned her attention to Helen. “Have you got it? What’s the result?”

Helen turned to speak, but was drowned out by Graves’s shrill whistle blast. “The vote totals are as follows: Stevenson with six votes, Ellingston with seven votes, and Poldark with eight votes. Ladies, gentlemen, boys and girls, Ross Poldark is wagon captain!” The crowd erupted with boisterous cheers and a few scattered boos as the men gathered around Ross to pound him on his back and raised their fists in the air. Ross’s face was dark with colour as he grinned, nodding his thanks.

Suddenly there was another ear-piercing whistle that came from the Ellingston crowd. “Now hold on, just a minute,” Grant Jefferson said, doffing his hat, smiling his most beguiling smile. It made Demelza nauseous just looking at it. “We have a dispute about one of the votes on Poldark’s side.”

Graves frowned. “What kind of dispute, Jefferson?”

He grinned, nodding towards Frederick Jackson, the lone man of colour who stood towards the back of the group gathered near Ross. “Jackson there should only count for three-fifths of a vote, seeing as how that’s the law of this land and all.” He rolled a cheroot between his fingers before sticking it between his teeth. “Then again, should he even be voting at all?”

A rumble seethed through the crowd. Demelza heard more than a few sounds of agreement coming from those gathered. Her anger towards Jefferson boiled dangerously close to the surface, obvious enough for Helen to grasp her forearm and shake her head. “I know, he’s simply despicable, Demelza,” she whispered, her eyes dark with concern. “Be still.”

Graves held up his hands. “All men _leading_ a wagon on this train were eligible to participate. Which means, Mr Jefferson,” he said with a Cheshire cat smile, “ _your_ vote for Ellingston is ineligible, since you are not leading a wagon, but merely _riding_ in one.” A collective gasp rippled among those gathered as realization dawned before a chuckle was heard towards at the back of the crowd. It built into gales of laughter that Mr Graves had to quell with another whistle. “Mr Jackson, as you well know, has lead and managed his own wagon for his family. Even if we were to consider your…proposal, Mr Poldark would still have more votes than Mr Ellingston, even if you were eligible to participate. Are we clear, sir?”

The last four words were delivered with such a thick Scottish burr that Helen giggled. “Ooo, he reminds me of my late Uncle Rupert when he lets the Scots loose.”

Demelza snorted with laughter before squeezing her friend’s arm. She turned to the lads. “Let’s go congratulate Ross, alright?” She grabbed their hands, weaving her way through the crowd of well wishers until they were all in his arms. His deep, gratified laughter filled her ears before he kissed her cheek. “I love you, Ross!”

He beamed and, scooping Geoffrey Charles up onto his hip, gathered Demelza and Drake against him for an embrace. She sighed with absolute contentment until she caught the look of unmitigated hatred in Jefferson’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ross prepared his Enfield Pattern rifle-musket before settling it in the hidden compartment on the wagon and loading the pistols. They were set to depart the fort in less than an hour and you could cut the tension ricocheting through camp with a very dull knife. He heard the homey sounds of Demelza humming a tune, settling in the last of their belongings from the lodge house, the smell of bacon frying on the fire. The thumping of his pulse begin to ease, his mind quieting to focus on the tasks at hand. He took a deep breath, shoved the pistols in his holster and walked purposefully towards the back of the wagon.

“Ross,” she said softly, resting her hands on his chest, raising her lips to his for a brief kiss. She was very pretty that morning in a yellow flowered dress, her hair already secured in a long russet plait that lay over her shoulder. “Can you have some breakfast before you go?”

He shook his head. “No, I need to head over to the meeting now, but could you save me some bacon?”

“I’ll save you some bacon and scrambled eggs.” She kissed him again, his moan of thanks lost as they nibbled and nuzzled one another. “Go on, now, Captain Poldark!” He arched a brow at her and, giving her a quick swat on the bum, headed off to the meeting.

He’d had a lively, productive session with the two men who were now his deputies, Ellingston and Stevenson, developing the new code of conduct for what was now called the Poldark train. Ross had felt bad about Dwight’s name no longer remaining a part of it, but the doctor just laughed and shook his head. “I’m the least of your worries, mate.”

He was right, of course. Both men were level headed, but very opinionated when it came to determining how members of their community would comport themselves.  Stevenson was of the mind to have a dry wagon train, the idea of which was shouted down by the other two in short fashion. Infractions of the law, including overly inebriated travelers should be handled as if they were a settlement, with any serious issues held until they reached a town with a sheriff. Most of the rules were easily accepted, including the watch schedule. All in all, Ross felt prepared for the task at hand.

“Gentlemen, we will have two separate watches at night: one of the camp, to run with four men every four hours. The second will be for the animal shelter, two men for eight hours.” The groaning was epic, as expected. He coughed and raised his voice. “Anyone assigned to watch the animal shelter will be excused for all other watches for the next twenty four hours!”

The groaning stopped.

He grinned. “We have the schedule for the next five days posted on Enys’s wagon. Daytime patrols will consist of four men every three hours. You are encouraged to rest as much as you are able. We will be on a fast pace, with no time to linger. Tensions are high and exhaustion can become a problem sooner than you think.

“Our goal is to reach Casper in ten days, rest for four, then prepare for our trip over the Rockies. That will be three hundred miles through incredibly rugged terrain, which will put added strain on our people and our livestock. We will stop an hour earlier to accommodate preparations for supper, allowing us to get the camp settled by nine o’clock sharp. The animals will need the extra time to recuperate, and so will we.” He nodded to Randall. “Mr Ellingston, who has been designated as deputy in charge of law enforcement, will address any issues with code of conduct.

“Keep extra ammunition with you at all times. Reports from the scouts have been mixed, so I caution all of you to remain vigilant. Any questions?” He fielded a few questions from the men gathered, but was generally pleased by the lack of them. He’d worked hard to try to cover all bases. “Please wind and synchronize watches. We will depart camp at eight o’clock. Thank you!”

The men scattered to check the watch schedule and make final preparations. Ross walked over to speak with Ellingston, who was talking with one of the men from his train. “Feeling excited to be off…Anthony, is that right?”

The stout gentleman nodded. “Yessir, Anthony Wainright, pleasure to meet you, Captain Poldark.”

Ross smiled, shaking his head. “Please, call me Ross. Where are you headed, Anthony?”

“Olympia, Washington Territory. I’m an attorney, heading west to work with the new legislature,” he said eagerly. “I sure was glad to hear there was a train going all the way up that far north. The missus and I were concerned we’d be stuck in The Dalles for months before we met up with another group headed that way.”

“We are glad to have you with us, Anthony.” He paused. “Perhaps we could have you and your wife over for supper some night soon?”

Anthony beamed. “It’d be our honour, sir.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better go check the schedule. Thank you, R-Ross!”

Ross waved at the man as he scampered towards Dwight’s wagon. “You’re a born politician, Ross.” He turned to find Ellingston grinning behind him. “He’ll be giddy over that invitation for days.”

Ross shrugged. “Seemed to be the neighbourly thing to do.”

“I’m in complete agreement with you,” Ellingston said amiably. “Tis time for us to mingle more. Now, you told me you wanted to discuss something with me but we didn’t have time the other night. Is it something we can talk about now or should it wait for the dinner break?”

“No, this will be fairly quick,” Ross confided. “I noticed that you had Grant Jefferson standing with you for the vote the other day.”

“Yeah, I had the chance to spend some time with he and his brother-in-law while we were here. Found them to be engaging, friendly folks.” Ellingston chuckled ruefully.  “Jefferson’s got a way when it comes to poker, though. Lost more than I care to admit to the man.” He stuffed his pipe with tobacco and lit it with a match he struck on his thumbnail. “Is something amiss?”

“Well, there have been a couple of incidents where Jefferson has paid a little too close attention to my wife, Demelza,” Ross disclosed. “Nothing serious, mind, but she doesn’t cotton too well with him. You will no doubt have noticed I’ve done my best to be paired up with Jefferson for watch.” Ellingston nodded. “I’m doing that to keep an eye on him while I’m not in camp with my wife. If you get my meaning.”

“I understand completely,” Ellingston agreed. “He’s a charmer, that one, but I get a bit of a mean streak coming off of him as well. I’ve no loyalty to the man, despite his voting preferences.” He shook Ross’s hand. “You’ll keep me informed of any further incidences?”

“Absolutely. Thanks, Randall.”

He walked back towards the blue wagon, waving at Drake, who was gearing up Belle to the doubletree. “Going well?” he called.

“Yes, Ross!” came the lad’s happy reply. He patted the ox on her side. “They’re eager to be off.”

“Did you take care of the cat’s pan?” Ross asked, arching a brow at his brother-in-law. The cat, which Ross had named Jezebel, and her kittens -- a calico, an orange tabby and a black and white -- were ensconced in Geoffrey-Charles’s cubby in the back of the wagon. They seemed to be adapting well to their new surroundings. Ross even had to admit the kittens were adorable.

Drake’s smile faltered, morphing into a grimace. “Yes, first thing this morning,” he muttered. “Why’d I get that job?”

“Because you’re strong enough to make sure the sand is changed out every day,” Ross replied. “Can you imagine what would happen if Geoffrey Charles bobbled that box on the way out of the wagon?”

Drake blanched. “Demelza would--”

“--Kill the lot of us, precisely,” Ross finished. “Besides, Drake, you are old enough to know better than to do what was done in the first place.”

Drake’s cheeks reddened, but he nodded. “I know. Anyway,  I’ll be back with Bite in just a minute.”

“Thank you, Drake.” Ross said sincerely, and gave the lad a pat on the back. He noticed the ox in question munching on some dry grasses nearby. _That aptly named animal would take off someone’s thumb yet_ , he thought to himself. Feeling the need to vacate the immediate vicinity, he walked swiftly towards the back of the wagon.

“Geoffrey Charles, finish your breakfast, please, sweetheart?” Ross could hear the frustration in his wife’s voice. He rounded the corner and saw the two of them sitting on the back of the wagon, battle lines drawn over a bowl of porridge. “Geoffrey Charles, finish your breakfast or you will not have anything until we stop for dinner,” Demelza said calmly.

“Porridge,” Geoffrey Charles pouted. He poked his spoon at the bowl and looked up at Ross. “I don’t want porridge.”

He forced a frown on his face. “Well, that’s unfortunate, my lad,” Ross said. “I’d come back here to see if you wanted to ride out with me when we get started today.” It was something Geoffrey Charles had been asking to do since the day they’d left St Joseph. The look of dismay that manifested on the boy’s face was downright laughable. Three seconds later, the spoon rose and fell from Geoffrey Charles’s mouth in record time. He slid a glance at Demelza from under his lashes. She appeared to be a hiding a smirk behind her hand. Her eyes sparkled up at his, warming his heart.

She handed him the plate of bacon and eggs she’d promised, which he attacked with gusto. “Are we ready to set off?”

He nodded, chewing. “Just about,” he mumbled discretely. He gulped his coffee, finished his meal, and handed her the empty plate.  “Thank you, love. I’m on first watch this morning,” he said, taking a step closer to her.

She frowned, glancing at the pistols he wore on his hips. “Is there trouble?”

“Nothing confirmed,” he said, “but we need to be mindful, just in case there is. Drake will drive the wagon.”

“Would it be better if he went along with you?” she asked. She placed her hand on his bare forearm, stroking his tanned skin with her thumb. She’d touched him just like that the night before, a second before she’d taken him in her mouth. The warmth of her touch made his blood race, settling heavily in his groin. “I can drive the wagon.”

He blinked to clear the image of her tongue against the head of his cock out of his mind. “Demelza, you can’t manage those oxen, especially if something happens and we need to unexpectedly step up the pace.”

“I can so, Ross,” she frowned stubbornly. “I managed the team on the way to St Joseph many times. Drake has let me handle the reins periodically since we left Missouri. I can manage those two.”

He looked down at her, his wife of nearly four months, the pink ribbon she’d used to tie the end of her braid brushing the crest of her breast, her fine boned hand held under his. He picked up her hand, turning it over to rest palm-up in his. He ran his index finger along small callouses that had already begun to toughen the pads of flesh on the inside of her palm. He looked up into her eyes, discovering they had darkened, turned stormy from his touch. He could see the very tip of her tongue between her slightly parted lips and bent to capture her mouth with his. She sighed against him, the fingers of her free hand streaking up to play with the tendrils of hair along the nape of his neck. The rush of her breath through her nostrils tickled the soft hairs on his cheeks.

He slid his free arm around her waist, pulling her solidly against him, deepening the kiss. She moaned against his mouth. making him hard within an instant. He cursed himself for indulging in the pleasure of her lips when what he needed to be doing was finalizing preparations to depart. He groaned, breaking their kiss, ignoring the need raging through his blood.

“Ross,” she sighed, barely audible over the pounding of the pulse in his ears. Her eyes were fixed on his mouth and he shuddered. “Oh Lord,” she said, pressing a hand against her flaming cheek. “Now’s really not the time, is it?”

He laughed drily. “No, my love, it’s not. But I’ll carry that kiss with me during my watch and look forward to our time together tonight.” He reached into his back pocket, drawing out his riding gloves. “I want you to have these,” he murmured, placing them into her hands. “They will be far too large for your hands, but they will protect them from chafing against the reins.” He smiled at the shocked look she gave him, her pretty mouth forming a near perfect ‘o’ of surprise, and brushed a curl that had escaped her plait. “I promise to get you a pair of your own when we reach Casper.”

“Thank you, Ross.” She smiled brilliantly up at him, touching his cheek.

“You’re most welcome, Demelza,” he said softly. He caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, turning to find Geoffrey Charles looking between the two of them, a teasing smile on his face. He cleared his throat. “All finished are you, my lad?”

“Yes, Uncle Ross,” the boy said sweetly. “Can I ride with you now?”

He nodded. “For a little while. Then you must go back to ride with Auntie Demelza for a bit. Agreed?” The boy nodded and Ross turned to Demelza to brush her cheek with his lips. “I’ll swing by to check on you.”

“Thank you Ross,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “Be safe.”

Ross nodded, scooped up his nephew and tossed him over his shoulder. He was rewarded with giggles of delight from the boy and the sparkling laughter of his bride before heading towards Seamus’s broad back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you rainpuddle13 for keeping me on track and being such a great friend!


	22. The Plains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **There is a potential trigger situation that happens in the last third of this chapter.** For those of you who are concerned about this, I suggest you stop reading after the line _Ross’s eyes held hers, awaiting her nod. She gave it._
> 
> Please drop me a note on Tumblr @mmmuses or a DM on Twitter @mmmusings and I'll be happy to give you a synopsis.

“Lesley!” Richard shouted, reining Seamus in from his canter. The tall, black-haired Cajun turned in the saddle and waved. “Graves wants us to direct the train to that flat plain near the river about a quarter mile from here to settle for the night. Can you take a final swing around the back and check in with James from Ellingston? I will cover the front with Steven.”

“Oui, my friend,” Lesley agreed. “How is Helen today?”

“Well, I hope having our wagon up at the front will have been a help,” Richard said, hearing the note of strain in his voice. “Keep her from coughing as much as she has the last few days.” Dwight had said it was nothing more than a simple cold, but they’d discovered Helen was sensitive to the dust and pollens found on the prairie. The dust made the cough worse, making her queasy by the end of the day.

“Let Annabelle or me know if there is anything we can do, Richard,” he said.

“Thank you, Les.” Richard raised his hand in farewell and nudged Seamus back into a gallop to reach the front of the train. He could see the spot Graves had selected and was pleased. It was very flat, the grass green near the river with several leafy trees, perfect for shading. He saw James Sawyer from the Ellingston party motioning the lead wagon down the slight incline towards the riverside clearing and circled around to the second wagon, smiling when he saw his son skillfully driving their oxen to follow the first.

“James, how’s it looking?” Richard called, riding up next to him. 

“I saw a few Indians about five miles north when I did my recon earlier, but they are not associated with the clan at war with the fort,” Sawyer said, spitting a stream of tobacco-stained saliva on the ground. “Yet.”

Richard swallowed reflexively. “We will be along our way soon enough. Let’s bring the rest of them in for the night.” 

They spent the next thirty minutes guiding the wagons into their circle for the night. He saw Ross standing near the head of the train, going over the plans for the riverfront. Each night they would have to assign sections of riverfront for various purposes: fresh water, bathing, laundry, and waste. There were enough stories shared between travelers of nasty cholera outbreaks resulting from poor planning for potable water. 

He nudged the horse down towards his friend, chuckling as Seamus whickered in what could be interpreted as happiness when he neared his master. “Evening, Ross!” Richard said, smiling. 

“Evening, Richard!” Ross grinned in return and walked over to the pair. He pat the horse on the side of the neck and appeared to give him a small apple. 

“Where on earth did you find that out here in the middle of nowhere?” Richard asked.

Ross laughed. “Peddler at Laramie had a few I tucked away for my boy here,” he said, pressing his forehead against the horse’s forelock. “Was he a good lad for you today?”

“Oh, he’s a bonny horse, Ross,” Richard said appreciably. “Little did I know I’d need to ride as much as I have when we first left Scotland.” He patted the horse on his neck. “Hope to find one like him when we get to Washington..” 

“You’ve my permission to borrow him whenever you need to while we’re on the move west,” his friend said. He asked after Helen and Richard found himself grateful to have so many caring people traveling along with he and his family to this new land. “You know Demela and I will do what we can to help, be it fixing meals or keeping Glenn occupied, whatever.”

“Thank you, Ross.” Richard glanced up to see Graves shifting his feet, clearly impatient to finish settling the camp. “Looks like our trailmaster is antsy, mate. Sorry for the interruption, Mr Graves!” he called out to the old Scot, receiving a gruff nod in return. 

Ross waved at Graves. “On my way!” he shouted before smirking at Richard, rolling his eyes. He snorted with laughter as he wished his friend well, turning Seamus towards their designated animal shelter.

Ross had adjusted to his new responsibilities with aplomb in the four days since they’d left Laramie. Most of the new members of their party respected him, even liked him, with the exception of one. Richard nodded as he rode past Grant Jefferson, walking alongside the Fellows wagon. He was able to see the man’s green eyes narrow before appearing to think better of himself, acknowledging Richard in return. He was aware of the incident that had occurred between the Georgian and Demelza before they reached Laramie. It hadn’t taken Richard long to notice how Ross had set the schedule; the man was paired up with he or Dwight whenever Ross was unavailable. 

When Richard had mentioned it, Ross had not shied away from his feelings. “If I’d had my way I’d have kicked him off in Laramie,” his friend had growled, knocking back two fingers of bourbon as if it were water. “I can’t do that, not now that I’m captain. So I’ll do the next best thing: keep an eye on him whenever humanly possible.” Richard decided he needed to get some additional information from a source closer to the person in the middle of the situation: Demelza, and that was his wife, Helen. 

By the time he’d checked in with the gentlemen taking the night watch and put Seamus up, their family wagon had been settled for ninety minutes. He groaned as he walked, the strain of riding hard an uncommon enough occurrence for him to make his joints creak like an ancient rocking chair. He then noticed the fire in their camp had not been started. That worried him, enough to lengthen his usually long stride, despite the discomfort.

His son came around the other side of the wagon carrying a load of firewood. “Glenn, where is your stepmother?” he asked, eyes flicking a glance towards the rear opening of the canvas.

The lad followed his father’s gaze. “Still lying down, Da,” he said, setting the logs down, arranging smaller pieces atop a pile of dry grass. He struck a match and the tinder flamed to life. “I think she’s more tired than she lets on.” 

“How was the coughing?” Richard asked, setting down the rabbit he’d shot as they neared the end of watch. 

“Better, but she had a couple of spells that made her sick,” Glenn said, feeding more twigs to the fire. He raised troubled grey eyes to meet Richard’s blue. “I heard her.”

Richard’s heart lurched in his chest. “I’ll see to her then help get supper started.” He leaned forward, patting the boy on the back, realizing he was not so much a boy anymore. Glenn had grown up very quickly along their journey. His shoulders were broader, more muscular than they’d been back in Scotland. He’d also matured, no longer the petulant little boy he was when they had boarded the ship from home over a year ago. He felt an immense bubble of pride burst within him. “Thank you, son.” 

“You’re welcome, Da,” Glenn said, rising from his crouch to stand. Richard noticed the lad had gained a few inches of leg as well as shoulder and smiled. “What’s so funny?”

“Gonna need to drop the hem of those breeks of yours.” Richard chucked his son under his chin. “You’re growing like a weed.”

Glenn laughed at that. “Helen said the same thing to me at dinner.” He tossed a log onto the flames. “Although we wouldn’t have to if I wore a kilt like you, Da.”

Richard blinked. “Do you want to, lad?” he asked, curious.

“Aye, I would,” his son said, rather shyly. “Dinna ken if I need to wait until I’m older, but when the time comes I would.”

“We’ll see about that, son.” A suspicious lump in the throat caught Richard by surprise and he found himself nodding, patting Glenn on the shoulder once again. 

He brushed the flap of the canvas top aside. Helen lay curled on her side atop the folding bed. The chamber pot was tucked almost out of sight behind one of the trunks. She looked pale and small under the crocheted afghan she’d started during their voyage across the Atlantic, her hand gently stroking the mound of their growing child.

“Mo muirnín?” he whispered.  _ My darling girl. _ Her eyes opened, the lashes raising enough to reveal the dark smudges under them.  He cursed himself afresh for dragging her out into the wilderness. “Helen, I’m so sorry.”

“Richie, please don’t fret,” she said, her voice hoarse from coughing. She struggled to sit up. He clambered onto the tailgate, moving to her side in seconds. 

“I’ll fret if I want to, Ellie,” he said sternly, scooping her from the bed and settling her on his lap. “Glenn said you were sick.”

She closed her eyes. “I think it was something I ate at dinner, darling,” she said, stroking his cheek.

“And your cold?”

“Better,” she said with a cough. The congestion in her head and chest made the word sound like “bedder”. 

“And the bairn?” He touched the mound under her skirts, wishing for the child to move as it had the night before.

Her fingers linked with his. “He’s doing fine, love.” She smiled and much of the weariness he’d seen in her eyes vanished, replaced with joyful contentment as they did whenever he mentioned their coming child. 

He tipped her chin up and kissed her. “Can I get you something, lass?” he asked. “A cup of tea? Some water?”

“Oh, tea, please, and make it strong, aye? The water tastes so funny now.”

She crinkled her nose in distaste. Richard was compelled to kiss the rosy tip of it. “It’s the alkaline,” he explained, settling her back to a seated position and picked up the chamber pot. “I’ll be right back.” He jumped down from the wagon and headed towards the area they’d designated for waste disposal, emptying the contents of the pot. It was mostly bile and he frowned.  _ If it had been something she’d eaten it must have been very toxic for she’d not had enough food to feed a mouse _ , he thought grimly to himself. He gave it a good rinse and stalked back to the wagon. “Are you hungry, Ellie?”

She shook her head. “Not particularly, love, but I am ready to get down from here for the night.” She stood, stretching. She was wearing one of the shirtwaists Demelza had altered for her along with a grey skirt the colour of Glenn’s eyes. She’d stopped wearing her stays a few weeks ago and Richard’s eyes followed the movement her breasts made, unencumbered by the undergarment. She caught him and arched a brow at him. “Richie,” she lightly scolded, walking towards the end of the wagon. He reached up for her to help her down off the tailgate. “If you keep staring at me like that I’ll have to put those stays back on.”

“Och,” he muttered softly, “canna a man admire his wife in all her fecund beauty, Helen, a ghràdh?” He kissed her, delighting in the touch of her tongue against his. “You  _ are _ beautiful.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Richie,” she murmured. “Let me get supper started and see if that sparks my appetite.” He was happy to see that it did, once the ham and bean stew was on the fire to cook. She drew the line at skinning the rabbit, turning a light shade of green at the prospect.  _ ’Twill be a good opportunity for Glenn,  _ he thought to himself. After dinner, Ross and Demelza invited Glenn to stay with Drake for the night. Ross winked at Richard as his son chattered happily with his best mate as they took his bedroll over to the Poldark’s tent. 

An hour later, Richard lay next to his wife, her face aglow from their lovemaking. His hand stroked her belly, enjoying the gentle movements of their child against his palm. “Are you alright, Ellie love?” he murmured. “It wasn’t too much for you?”

“Not at all, Richie,” she sighed, turning on her side to face him. She brushed her mouth against his, and then nipped his bottom lip. “I find that I need you, more now than ever.” She looked up at him, revealing a glimpse of the shy, uncertain girl he’d wed over a year ago. “Is that normal?” He stopped himself before he mentioned he’d experienced something similar with Joan, and he had undoubtedly loved her, but the love and bond he’d found with Helen was deeper, more profound than what he’d had with his first wife. 

_ Lucky man.  _ He ran his hand down her tousled red curls. “Dinna ken, love. We can always ask Dwight.”

She poked him in the ribs. “Nay, don’t do that!” Her cheeks flamed and he pulled her close, tucking her against him. “As long as you dinna mind it.”

Richard choked back a laugh. “I’d have thought the last few moments would answer that question, vixen!” She giggled, turning over onto her other side to spoon back against him. “Helen, can I ask you a question?”

She looked over her shoulder, the teasing sparkle in her eyes dimming. “That sounds serious,” she said, turning back over to face him. “Anything, Richard.”

“You remember what happened between Demelza and Grant Jefferson before we arrived at the fort, aye?” 

“Of course I do,” she said, frowning. “The man is a scoundrel, to be sure. Why do you ask?”

He paused. “Has Demelza mentioned anything about… well, about the man? If he’s being rude or pestering her?”

“No, she hasn’t,” Helen said, a note of concern clear in her voice. “I mean she told me that he stands too close to her at times, but nothing beyond that. Has something happened?” 

“No, dearest, nothing’s happened.” He ran his hand down her upper arm. “But would you tell me if it did?”

“If she were in danger, of course I would. Richie,” she said, her brow furrowing, “you’re frightening me.”

He wrapped her in his arms. “I’m sorry,  _ Mo leannan _ , dinna fash yourself. We’re keeping an eye on the man. We’ll be well shot of him in four days time.” She looked at him, her deep blue eyes so serious, brushed a kiss on his chin and turned to spoon back against him. “Shouldn’t you be getting onto your bed, love?”

She guided his hand to her breast, full and swollen from her pregnancy. “Not tonight, at least not right now,” she murmured. Her head was pillowed on his bicep and she sighed contentedly. “I do so enjoy the new bed, but I miss sleeping with you.” She snuggled her rump deeper into the curve of his lap. His cock twitched at the caress. “I think you miss me, too.”

“May have to build larger one,” he rumbled, flexing his hips against hers as she giggled, then sighed into the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Is there any more pudding left, Auntie Dede?” Geoffrey Charles asked. The corners of his mouth showed evidence of the serving of leftover biscuits with berries and custard he’d had only moments ago. 

“You’ve had quite enough, my lad,” she said warmly. “But your uncle Ross still has a bit left in his bowl.” She dampened the corner of her apron with a little saliva and did her best to clean up the evidence from his rosy cheeks.  “Why don’t you see if he’ll share a bite or two with you?” she whispered teasingly in his ear. The boy giggled and made his way to where her husband sat, pudding forgotten as he talked to Graves. Again. Thankfully, her nephew was able to distract him enough for the two men to bid each other a good night.

“Ross,” she said, knowing her tone was a little scolding, but knew it had to be so. He looked up from shoveling a spoonful of pudding into Geoffrey Charles’s open gob. She laughed, rose from her seat and went to settle in next to her lads. “Can I speak with you?” She gestured with her head towards Geoffrey Charles, raising her brows. 

“Yes, of course, my dear,” he said, giving the boy his bowl with a look of sorrowful longing in his amber eyes. “Geecee, I need to talk grownup talk with your auntie.”

She stopped him. “Geecee? What on earth is that?”

“My nickname, Auntie Dede! See? It rhymes with your nickname!” He started singing “Geecee, Dede” under his breath as he put another spoonful of pudding into his mouth.

“Where did that come from?” Demelza asked her husband.

“Drake, actually,” Ross said, the corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. His black beard shone sleek and glossy in the firelight, making her wish they were ensconced in their little tent, just the two of them, the brush of that beard against her breast. He caught the direction of her gaze, his smile broadening. “He said calling out for Geoffrey Charles whenever he needed him always took too long.”

Demelza snorted, which made the lad laugh out loud. “Geecee,” she said with a grin, “time to get settled for bed, now. You go on in.” He whinged a bit at first, but eventually walked off to the tent, dragging his heels as he went. She sat close to her husband, leaning against his shoulder as his arm came around her back. “Ross, you’re working entirely too hard.”

“Demelza.” He frowned, shifting his arm from around her waist to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

“It’s true, Ross!” she said, frustrated. “In just the past eight days you’ve been brought in to settle four disputes over card games, several cases of drunken idiots wandering through camp at all hours of the night, and arguments over the watch schedule.” She glowered at him, rising to her feet to collect the supper dishes to soak overnight. “You never come to bed with the rest of us, always stumbling in exhausted, making a racket.”

She plunked the dishes onto the tailgate, placing them into the washtub with a clatter, jumping with surprise when he came up behind her. “You miss me, don’t you?” he murmured hotly in her ear, circling her waist with his arms. She damned her body for responding so readily to his presence, leaning back against his solid frame. “I miss you too, love. And I know it has been an adjustment. The faster pace is grating on all of our nerves, but we’ve made it through without much in the way of danger since we left Laramie--”

“--what about the buffalo, Ross?” she blurted incredulously, spinning in his arms. They’d all but run into a massive herd of buffalo as they migrated across the prairie. She’d been sleeping on buffalo robes, of course, but she’d never seen a live buffalo before in her life. They were massive, majestic, and some of the smelliest beasts she’d encountered. Several of the men had wished to stop their progress to hunt them, but Ross and Graves had put an immediate halt to that. There was a good chance the Cheyenne and Sioux had the same idea. Besides, butchering a two ton animal would take too much time and result in too much wasted meat as they had no way to properly preserve what wasn’t used immediately.

They’d kept going. “What do you want me to do, Demelza?” 

He said it, heaving a sigh that made her think he was coming to the end of his patience. As was she. “I want you to promise me you’ll stay here tonight.” Her hands gripped his arms. She’d been plagued with a niggling sense of disquiet the entire day. Now she wished to have him there with her and the children, to be their protector, not the entire train’s.

He lifted her chin. “Has Jefferson been bothering you?” he asked. 

“No!” She felt the muscles of his arms bunch under her hands. “No, he hasn’t been near our camp since we left Laramie.” Not near their camp, perhaps, but she had been aware of his eyes on her from across the wagon circle a time or two. “Can you be with us tonight?”

“I think I can do that, love.” He lifted a hand to brush his thumb along her cheekbone and kissed her. “Let me douse the fire and I’ll join you directly.” She was dancing on her toes with happiness as he kicked soil over the flames when Richard jogged over. “Richard? What’s amiss?”

“It’s Helen,” he said, running a hand through his tawny brown locks. “She’s still hampered with the cold. The nausea from the coughing usually settles in the early evening, but she’s still vomiting.” He looked at Demelza. “Would you have some ginger and honey to add to her tea? She said ginger biscuits usually help with nausea, but we’ve nothing like that in our supplies.”

“Yes, of course,” Demelza nodded, “I’ve just the thing.” She touched Richard’s arm and hurried to the back of their wagon, pulling out the drawer where she kept her seasonings and spices. She pulled out several pieces of dried candied ginger and the jug in which she kept their honey. This would do for now, but what her friend really needed was a good hot toddy. Rehydrating the ginger would take some time and, from the sound of things, Helen needed urgent relief. She could give the honey and a few pieces of ginger to Richard now, and take over the toddy as soon she finished steeping more ginger. 

She walked back to the men just in time to hear Richard say: “I need to stay with her, Ross. Can you cover my watch tonight?” 

Ross’s eyes flickered over to Demelza and the wellspring of happiness she’d had inside her chest frizzled to an abrupt halt.  _ Again… not again, _ she thought to herself. She ducked her head to hide the prickle of tears that had come to her eyes. When she raised them once again, she saw her disappointment reflected in his. 

Yes, she was upset this was proving -- yet again -- that when it came to the running of the train, Ross was no longer his own person. But this was for Richard and Helen. 

Ross’s eyes held hers, awaiting her nod. She gave it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Hey, Andersen,” Grant groaned to the man sharing the night watch over the animals. “Gotta go out for a minute again.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Jefferson?” Johan Andersen said with a snort of impatience. “You just went out to take a piss not more than thirty minutes ago.”

“Gut’s afire. Gotta take a dump.” 

Andersen grimaced. “Fine, fine, go on then.” Grant tipped his hat before walking from the pen. 

Until that brief exchange, Johan Andersen had barely said two words to Grant the entire evening. Probably still angry about the twenty dollars he’d lost in the Georgian’s poker game the night before last. Which was fine with him. He had other things to think about. 

_ And do _ , he thought to himself as he skirted the outer edge of the camp, through the shelter of trees. Having prepared himself for another boring night watching the horses and oxen eat grass and shit, he’d been taking that piss by a nearby tree when he saw Poldark enter the pen to get his horse. How he’d wished he could hear what the pompous bastard was saying to Andersen. Would Poldark be gone just a few minutes, or hours? 

Two more days and the Fellows-Jefferson wagon would be in Casper, and leaving the train. But before that happened, Grant had some unfinished business with Mrs Poldark, and time was growing short.

The requirement that all tents needed to be set up inside the wagon circle had curtailed Grant’s opportunities to listen in on the two of them, which angered him to no end. He still found himself jerking off to the memories of the lovely sounds she made when she humped that self-righteous prick of a husband, but it wasn’t the same. And he’d noticed that something about their relationship had changed since they’d been in Laramie, a softness to the way they’d looked at one another. The increased surveillance of his movements around camp had been noticed and not appreciated in the least.  _ Well _ , Grant thought,  _ I’ll show them _ . He would have a piece of the bitch before the night was through. Maybe more than one.

He stopped by a large oak, its shadowy depths providing him ample cover to observe the Poldark camp. She stood by the tailgate, pouring liquid into a strainer. She was interrupted by her brother. He was fortunate the wind blew in his direction, for the scent of ginger and their voices carried to where he stood. The boy was asking to go with Marsden, a schoolteacher from the Stevenson party, and several of the older children to watch the shooting stars they’d seen the last few evenings. She nodded, kissed him on the cheek and sent him on his way. 

Jefferson wondered where the younger brat was, what was his name again? Geoffrey Charles, that’s right. Perhaps he was already in the tent for the night? It was a chance he was willing to take.

He crept up along side the Poldark wagon. He could hear her humming, and had to give her credit for having a beautiful voice.  _ Especially when she comes, _ he thought to himself, enjoying the sharp rush of blood to his cock at the memory. He straightened up, adjusted his trousers and walk around the corner. 

“Evenin’, Miz Poldark.” Oh, that first jump of fright, always so delicious. She stared at him, her mouth slightly open. It made him think of the things he would have her do to him with that mouth and another surge of blood coursed through his veins, bringing him to full erection. “Nice evening, isn’t it?” he said, emphasizing his accent. The ladies all appreciated a strong Southern gentleman.

“What are you doing here, Mr Jefferson,” she snapped, setting down the teapot she held. “You’re supposed to be guarding the animals.”

“Well, well, well. You know my schedule, Miz Poldark,” he said, pleasure at the notion settling into his bones. “That’s mighty endearing, ma’am. I am flattered.”

“You’ve been told by my husband to stay away from here,” she stated. “To stay away from  _ me _ .” Her tone was fiery, confident, something new for her. He wasn’t certain he liked it all that much.  

“Ah, yes,  _ Captain _ Poldark,” he sneered. “Always barkin’ orders, yessir, yessir, whatever you want, sir.” He spat on the ground.

“You need to leave now.” She crossed her arms, drawing his attention to her breasts. The tops were white and creamy in the moonlight. He couldn’t wait to taste them. 

Grant took a step closer, pleased when she made a small step backwards. He grinned. He knew all of this newfound confidence was nothing more than a show. He’d always been able to pick them, the vulnerable ones, the ones lacking self-confidence...the ones who had been used before and were the most susceptible of all. He wasn’t certain which one she she, but he’d find out by the time he was finished with her.

He nodded. “Oh, I’ll leave.” Another step forward, another step back. He grinned what he knew to be his most charming smile, the one that made all the ladies weak in the knees and wet in their cunts. “Two days time and I won’t be bothering you anymore, Miz Poldark.” He stepped closer and she backed hard into the tailgate.  _ Nowhere else to go, honey _ . The teapot wobbled and fell, crashing to the ground, the scent of ginger and bourbon swirling around them. “If you’ll just give me a little something to remember you by... _ Demelza _ .”

She grew pale, the slow, menacing drawl he’d used to speak her name having its intended effect. He remembered she’d flinched when she heard him use her first name that night long past when he’d asked her to dance. As if she’d been some rich heiress and he some peasant, unworthy of speaking to her. Until that moment, she’d been nothing more that bit of sport to liven up the endless monotony of life on the trail. The minute she’d dared to show some pride in who she was, and who she was married to, he’d wanted to toss it back into her face. Crush that spark of pride and disdain until she knew her place. 

He’d watched her eyes darken as he approached, and they were near black by the time he stood in front of her. She trembled, just as he’d hoped she would. Anticipation built within him as he breathed in her scent, of ginger and cinnamon, smoke from the fire. He grabbed her arm, remembering how she’d flinched the first time he’d done so, frozen in terror and closed his eyes to savor it.

Until a vicious slap shattered his reverie. 

“You bastard!” she hissed. He stepped back, shocked, staring into the eyes of Demelza: furious, enraged and glowering. “Leave now, I said!”

Sometimes a little fight made it better. “Give me a kiss, darlin’,” he crooned, tightening his hold, gripping her other arm and drawing her closer. She thrashed against the his grasp, spitting curses and dodging his lips as he sought hers. Jesus, if anything, it made his cock harder, the need to get her skirts over her head and fuck her blind was just that much greater. 

“You leave my auntie alone!” Grant startled, looking up to see the boy, Geoffrey Charles, leaning out of the back of the wagon. “You tricked her with those flowers! My uncle will wallop you when he gets back, just you wait and see!” Grant swallowed. The kid knew, dammit.  _ That complicates things a bit _ , he thought to himself. His concern eased when he read the look of concern the bitch had for the brat. Problem solved. He released the woman, reaching into the wagon and grabbing the child by his collar. He hauled the boy out of the wagon, sending the dishes from their dinner clattering off the tailgate, shattering as they struck the ground.

“No!” Demelza screamed, clawing at his arms, her nails tearing at the back of his hand. 

The little shit hammered at Grant’s chest, kicked at his legs, coming close to nailing him in the balls. He saw red, was raising his fist to beat the boy into unconsciousness when he felt Demelza’s hands close on his arm. “Please, don’t hurt him,” she begged, her nails digging into his bicep.  _ Yes, beg me, bitch.  _ “Geoffrey Charles, please quiet down, my love.” She shushed him, cupping his blond head, his blue eyes round with fear. “Please, Grant, please leave  him here and I’ll go with you, I promise.”

That sweet, soprano voice, choked with tears, begging with him, speaking his name to plead for the life of the kid. If he hadn’t been ready before, he certainly was now. He’d have her crying again before he was finished with her. Hell, Poldark might even thank him for working her over, loosening that tight ass of hers up.

“That’s a very tempting proposition, Demelza.” He licked his lips. “But I’m afraid he knows far too much. And you know how it is with precocious little brats like this one.” He gave Geoffrey Charles a little shake. “We’d not get far after he’d wakened the camp with his caterwauling.” He thrust the boy into her arms and grabbed her behind the neck, digging his fingers in until she gasped with pain. “I think you both need to come with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we go into Poldark S2 hiatus on a bit of a cliffhanger, don't we? Sorry...no, not sorry... :-) I'm an evil person.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has supported this fic from the very beginning until now. Your comments, kudos, notes, DMs help to sustain my writing, they really do. MASSIVE thanks to Rainpuddle13 for her encouragement, constructive criticism and friendship. 
> 
> Enjoy season 2 (as best as you can) and I promise we'll pick up where we left off soon!


	23. A Thousand Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm back! I needed something to distract me from the clusterfck that was Episode 2.08. Don't get me wrong, from an intellectual perspective, I think this season has been incredibly strong for all of our lovely actors, but it's thrashing my emotions with a giant ugly stick. So a little ahead of schedule, here's chapter 23 -- hope you enjoy!

They walked through the copse of trees along the outskirts of the camp. Demelza carried Geoffrey Charles in her arms as she maneuvered her way around the thick screen of alders near the riverbank. Jefferson’s hand was clenched around her arm, fingers biting into her flesh. She suppressed a wince when she felt the boy’s eyes, huge and dark, on her face. She could see him, dappled by the moonlight streaming through the leaves overhead. The freckles across his nose appeared black in a face turned pale from fear. His hands clutched around her neck, surprisingly strong for a young lad of four. 

“Auntie Dede, what’s happening?” The boy had whispered, voice quavering in her ear. She knew she must remain calm, for both their sakes. 

“Hush, my love,” she murmured against his temple, pressing a fingertip against his mouth before stroking his tear-stained cheek. “I’m thinking.” And she needed to think quickly. She was still kicking herself for the bravado she’d displayed when he first told her he was taking them both. She’d laid claim after claim before him: that Ross would be back soon; that Drake was due home in minutes; that she was expected over at the MacGowans, the last actually being true. 

It was when Jefferson drew an enormous Bowie knife from the sheath behind his back that she’d gone deathly silent. The lad had clutched her leg through her skirts and begun to cry. “You shut that boy up right now or I will do it for you,” Jefferson had threatened, pressing the blade along the side of her nephew’s cheek, the tip grazing his shell-pink ear. She’d swallowed, hatred and fury making her blood boil with rage, but marshaled her emotions. Let him think her pallor was due to fear, that the trembling was the result of his threats against her. A time was coming, she wasn’t certain when, but a moment would present itself, and she had be ready for it when it came.

She’d nodded, scooped GC into her arms and had done what she was told.

A twig cracked under Demelza’s foot. “Watch where you’re going!” Jefferson’s voice hissed in her ear. 

“I can’t very well watch where I’m going because we have no light,” she snapped. “You are the one in charge, and know where you want us to go. Why don’t you get out in front?”

He stopped them, whipping her around to face him. “Nice try, sweetheart,” he drawled. “I need to keep you in my line of sight. Wouldn’t want you to get any bright ideas.”

He gave her a shove and they continued along the riverside. They were silent, the only sound permeating her thoughts were those of the child’s silent sobs against her neck. The poor lad had been so frightened by the knife against his head that he’d wet his pants. The sharp, pungent scent of urine was strong in her nostrils, the dampness soaking into her dress where she held him up on her hip. He’d cried and apologized as they’d left the camp. Truth be told, she’d come close to doing the same thing when Jefferson had first showed up at their wagon.

The charming, Southern gentleman façade he’d demonstrated had fractured with every moment he’d spent in her camp, shattering with finality only moments before. She could smell the sourness of his perspiration, reminiscent of what she’d recalled from her encounter with Colin, what felt like a lifetime ago. She slammed the door on the memory, for now was not the time to have any remnants of that horrible night cloud her judgment. She thought, instead, about her husband. Why hadn’t she told him about Jefferson’s attentions? She hadn’t wanted to believe it was happening, hadn’t wanted Ross to wind up getting injured – or worse – in an altercation. She realized second guessing herself at this point was a fruitless exercise, and one that would distract from the issue at hand. 

For she knew Ross would come for them, of that she had no doubt. She only hoped it would be soon.

They continued edging their way towards the animal shelter. “I’m scared, Auntie,” GC’s voice whispered in the gloom. 

His body trembled against hers.  _ Goddamn that bastard. _ “I know, GC,” she cooed softly against the ear Jefferson’s knife had nicked. She kissed it, the taste of his blood against her lips. She breathed in the dusty, damp little boy smell that was uniquely his. She hadn’t given him birth, but he was as much her son as it was possible to be without doing so. She sent a silent prayer to Elizabeth and steeled her resolve. “He will not harm you again, sweetheart.” 

~*~*~*~*~

Richard lifted the tent flap and smiled at the woman lying on the folding bed. “How are you feeling, Mo chroí?”

Helen returned his smile, her face wan in the light of the oil lamp. “A little better, Richie.” 

He arched a brow at her. “You sound like a seal, Ellie,” he said, settling down next to her bed and taking her hand. “How is the queasiness? Did the ginger Demelza sent over help?”

She nodded. “It did, yes, quite well.” She coughed. Her chest rattled disturbingly, making his heart trip with concern. 

“I’ve asked Dwight to come see you after he finishes with Ray Penvenen,” he murmured, feeling her forehead, relieved at its coolness. 

“Thank you, Richie,” she said, smiling up into his eyes. “Didn’t you say Demelza was bringing a toddy? I dare say I believe it will help to soothe my throat and ease my sleep tonight.”

“I did, didn’t I?” he said distractedly, reaching into the pocket in his waistcoat to pull out his watch and realized he’d left the Poldark camp with the ginger almost an hour ago. He’d settled Drake and Glenn with the task of cleaning the rabbit skins they’d collected from hunting and had lost track of the time. Demelza should have been over with the hot toddy a while ago. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. He pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead. “I will be back shortly, love.”

He walked over to the campfire, noticing Jessica Jackson and Gabrielle Thibodaux returning to their own fires, their charming giggles echoing in the night. Richard found the boys with their heads together, whispering and delivering light punches against their upper arms. He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen?”

Glenn’s eyes widened and a furious blush stained his cheeks. “Yes, Da?”

“What were Jessie and Gabrielle doing over here just now?” Richard asked, barely keeping the teasing out of his voice.

“Oh, nothing, Mr MacGowan,” Drake offered, his knife scraping against the hide. “Wanted to see the rabbit skins.”

“Mmhmm,” Richard said, then turned to the matter at hand. “Drake, your sister was going to come over with a toddy for Helen. Can you check on her for me? I’d rather not leave the camp.”

“Of course, Mr MacGowan,” Drake said, setting down the skin and knife. 

“I’ll go with you,” Glenn said, rising to his feet. “You said there were leftover biscuits and honey, didn’t you, mate?” 

Drake nodded. “I believe so, if GC didn’t eat the last of them. We’ll bring one back for you, Mr MacGowan.” 

“Thanks, lad,” Richard said, noticing that his son had walked over to the tent. His gaze followed the boy as he knelt next to Helen’s palette and, to his amazement, kissed his stepmother’s forehead before he dashed off to join his friend. Richard grinned before rejoining his wife. “This is a new development, my dear.”

“Oh, aye.” Helen blushed prettily, smiling with happiness. “He’s started doing that when we were in Laramie.” She reached up a hand to draw him down close to her. “He’s grown so much, Richie.”

“I was saying the same thing to him earlier today.” He brushed her knuckles with a kiss. “I’d like to fix him up with a kilt for his birthday in November. We’ve five months, and I know we brought enough material to fashion several. Is that enough time?” He touched her stomach, his large, scarred hand stroking the length of the bulge from breast to the small hump her belly button now made. The babe -- whom he was convinced was a girl -- turned under his hand, and his love for her and the woman who carried her swelled in his heart.

“I dunno, love,” she murmured, eyes closing at his caress. She covered his hand with hers. “I’ve a number of things started for the bairn that must be finished before then, so it might have to wait until after.” His disappointment must have shown on his face for she giggled and leaned up to kiss his cheek. “Perhaps if I talk with Demelza, have her help with some of the stitchwork, if I show her how it is supposed to be?”

He ran his finger along her chin. “Sounds like a very good idea, hen.” He was about to press a kiss to her temple with his when the sound of running footsteps caught his ear. He turned to find Drake and Glenn, ashen faced and panicky. Richard lurched to his feet. “What is it?”

“Da, the camp’s a wreck,” Glenn said, voice quavering. “The teapot with the toddy was on the ground, dented. Smells of bourbon all over the place.”

“She’s not there,” Drake choked. “Neither she or GC are there.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Be quiet,” Grant hissed close to Demelza’s ear. They were easing their way along the trees next to the animal shelter. He tightened the grip he had on the woman’s arm, and he was pleased by the wincing jolt she made in response. A little too pleased, as a matter of fact. He had to keep his mind clear right now, and his cock’s eagerness to get to business was a distraction he couldn’t afford. 

“You can’t think you will get away with this, Jefferson,” Demelza whispered. “There are four men on patrol around the camp.”

He snorted. “I whispered enough concern about some Indians I’d seen heading our way from Orin Junction to the south.” He ran a finger along her cheek, chuckling as she wrenched her head out of his reach. “We’ll be hours away in the opposite direction before they realize the story was bullshit.” She clutched the boy close to her chest. The stink of the kid’s piss reached his nostrils. “Jesus, isn’t the brat trained?”

“He’s a four year old little boy who has been abducted from his home at the point of a knife,” she snapped, two patches of pink staining her cheeks. “But I don’t expect you to understand what fear means to those on the other side of it, Jefferson.”

God, he thought his cock would burst, watching the bitch in all of her maternal fury. He wondered if he might be able to get a taste of her before they rode out.  _ Focus, Jefferson. _ He gave her a shove. “Move.”

They walked in silence for another five minutes before Grant brought Demelza to a halt. He  nodded at the kid. “Set him down.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, gathering the boy close.

“Set him down or I kill him.” Her eyes turned near-black in the moonlight as she lowered the child to the ground. Grant nudged them both next to a sturdy oak. “Sit down.” Demelza slid down, cradling the boy in her lap. Grant frowned as she glared up at him, her wide dark green eyes filled with anger, not the fear he’d desired. He tossed two sweat-stained bandanas at her. “Gag yourself and the brat.”  She begrudgingly complied, her nose wrinkling with distaste. When she finished tying hers, he removed a rope from his belt and tied them to the tree. “Any noise, any at all, and we’ll end this little adventure here and now. Do you understand?”

She was silent, stony-faced in the moonlight. He jerked the rope tight, the rough hemp snaking across her wrists and making her flinch. He leaned close, nuzzling his nose to her hair. It smelled like herbs and flowers. She stiffened when he flexed his hips against her shoulder, the pressure against his cock nearly unbearable. He smiled, his lips near her ear. “Now, answer me, bitch. Do you understand?” he whispered. She nodded shakily. He tested the ropes once again before rising to his feet. One quick glance, he smiled to himself, to make sure the coast was clear and headed towards the shelter.

He made a point of making as much noise as he could afford on his approach, groaning for effect. “Where the hell have you been, Jefferson?” Johan Andersen grumbled, rising to his feet from the rock he’d been sitting upon.

“I must have had some bad salt pork,” Grant moaned, rubbing his lower abdomen. “Nearly shit myself before I made it to the river.”

Johan grimaced. “Sorry you’re feelin’ poorly, but you know these goddamn oxen require more than one person keeping an eye on them. That wicked beast of Poldark’s nearly took my arm off when I tried to push him back from the corral.” He glared at the ox in question. The corral, as they called it, was nothing more than a roped in area where the animals could be hobbled for grazing on whatever sustenance they could find. They’d been lucky the last few days to camp near land with ample prairie grass and fresh water.

“Calm down, Andersen,” Grant barked. Coal black with a soul to match, Bite had earned his reputation as being the orneriest creature on the train. It lunged in Grant’s direction, its teeth coming within striking distance of his right hand. “Fucking beast. I’ll put a bullet through its brain, I swear.”

“Captain Poldark’d likely to have something to say about that,” Johan snorted. “You know you’re not his favourite person.” He dug in his pocket for his tobacco and rolling papers and bent his head to focus on rolling a cigarette.

He never saw the blow coming.

~*~*~*~*~

Demelza leaned down, doing her best to reach the hands tied in front of her. She used the tip of one nail to snag the edge of the bandana on her mouth, pulling it down far enough to move her lips. “Geoffrey Charles,” she whispered, praying there was time.

The boy turned his head up to hers, tears streaking his cheeks. It made her want to rip Jefferson in two.

She took in a calming breath. “We need a code word, darling. When I say GeeCee, I want you to run and find Uncle Ross, Drake, Dwight, anybody. Do you understand?” He shook his head violently, squirming and making frustrated squeaks behind his gag, surely loud enough to be heard.  “Quiet now, or this will not work, my boy. You mind what I tell you, you hear?” She said this in the sternest voice she could manage with a filthy, foul-tasting kerchief against her lower lip.

The boy looked at her, petulance in his eyes, but nodded.

“That’s a good lad,” she said, her voice breaking with relief. “I don’t know when that will happen, but I promise it will, when the time is right. Now help me get this back in place will you, darling?”

Demelza kissed her nephew’s small hands as he nudged and tugged to help her restore the gag in its place. He nestled back against her chest. She could feel his body trembling as he cried. She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, wishing upon all the stars in heaven to be able to join him. She felt several tears streak down her face before she brushed them away against her shoulder, giving herself a hard mental shake. There was no time for this now. She could fall to pieces for a thousand years, once this was over, once she was free of this nightmare and back in the arms of her husband.  Until then, she had to maintain her focus.

It felt like hours before she heard the crackle of boots on dry prairie grass approaching their location. She looked up, praying it was anyone but Jefferson, wondering once again why God had forsaken her. Her anger evaporated into fear when she saw he was wiping blood from his hands.

“Had a little business to take care of,” he said wryly, bending to untie their bonds. “Couldn’t have Andersen alerting the camp to my two invited guests, now, could I?” He hauled Demelza to her feet, an awkward motion given she held forty pounds of terrified boy in her arms. She felt her ankle wrench painfully, losing her grip on Geoffrey Charles, who fell from her embrace to land hard on the ground. She screamed against the gag in her mouth, attempting to drop to her knees to reach him, but was held upright by Jefferson’s steel-like grip on her arm. “Get up, boy. Don’t make me pick you up or I’ll have to hurt your sweet little auntie here.”

The boy looked up at him with eyes sparking blue fury. It could have been the same glare she’d seen from Ross before, aside from difference in their colour. She wondered if Jefferson had any idea what he’d unleashed in that moment, and hoped Geoffrey Charles would remember that same determination and grit when the time came. He scrambled to his feet and stood next to Demelza, small jaw clenched.

“Right, then,” Jefferson said, giving Demelza a shove. “Head over to the shelter, nice and quiet.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Richard looked around the ruined campsite, fear roiling his guts and turning them watery. He’d hoped to God the boys had been exaggerating, but knew in his heart they’d spoken the truth. The place was a shambles, with the cast iron skillet burned black with dried apple crumble. He wrapped his arms around Drake, who had dissolved into tears at the sight of the toy paper sailboat he’d said he’d made for Geoffrey Charles lying crushed in the dirt near the spot where the scuffle must have taken place.

“Da?”

Glenn came over to lean against Richard’s side, and he lifted an arm to pull his son into the embrace. “It’s alright, lads,” Richard said, his cheek pressed against Glenn’s blond head. “We’ll put together a search party, I promise we will.”

“Christ, what the hell happened here?”  Richard whirled to see Dwight and Joshua Robinson sprinting across the camp towards the wagon.

“Dwight,” Richard said, panicked. “Who is tending Helen?”

“Betsy, Mr Richard, don’t you worry,” Joshua said, his eyes widening as he surveyed the campsite. “Jesus wept.” The man laid his broad hand on Richard’s shoulder in reassurance.

“Richard, I had to bring him over to tell you something,” Dwight said, his voice tight with anxiety. He nodded at Joshua. “Go on, nothing will happen, I promise.”

Joshua swallowed once and began, sharing the sordid tale of catching Jefferson watching Demelza and Helen while they bathed. Richard could feel the blood rising in his face. His sweet Helen, the round curves of her body that he’d loved so much. And Demelza, who his good friend loved to distraction. Both unwittingly made pawns in Jefferson’s sick fantasies.

Richard’s vision narrowed as rage threatened his very sanity. “Why in the name of St Michael’s balls dinna you tell someone earlier, man?” he bellowed, his hand tightening on Joshua’s arm and giving him a hard shake.

“Because he threatened my family, sir,” Joshua snapped back. “I bet you’ve never seen a nigger that’s been lynched before, Mr MacGowan.” Richard had never heard Joshua raise his voice above the soft near-whisper that he’d used since they’d become acquainted. The deep baritone rang out across the camp. “Stripped naked, cock cut off and stuffed in their mouths. And women! Raped and abused before being strung up like a goddamn chicken. Except I’m certain that bastard would have made me watch him torture my wife and mother before putting me out of my misery, and I’d have been begging for it in the end.” His voice broke at the end and he looked down, his eyes downcast from the gathering to collect his thoughts for a moment. “No, sir…” he said, spitting on the ground before meeting Richard’s eyes with his own, dark as sapphires with outrage. “That was not going to happen to me and my family. Who’d have believed the word of a black man against a white man?”

“I would have!” Richard said, horrified and sickened by the description he’d heard. The words had cooled the fury that had sprung up in him like heat lightning. Sweet Jesus, and people feared the Indians and called them savages. He turned to Dwight. “Where was that bastard supposed to be tonight?”

But Joshua answered. “The animal shelter, but I stopped by there earlier and only saw Mr Johan there. Said that Jefferson complained of bowel troubles and was off relieving himself.” He raised worried eyes to Richard. “I didn’t stay long. No tellin’ where he truly was though.”

Richard laid a hand on Joshua’s shoulder. “Well, you dinna need to worry for your womenfolk, Joshua. I will snap off the cock of any man who dared to hurt you and yours and choke him with it.”  He kissed his son’s forehead. “Glenn, go back to the wagon. Get my gun and bring it here.” He looked at Dwight. “Go get your mount and ride out to get Ross. Go as fast as you can. I’ll gather up as many men as I can find here to scour the campsite. We’ve not a moment to lo—”

They stopped as the sound of a speeding horse neared the camp. The rider reined the horse up short, and explosive whinny coming from deep within the animal’s chest. “Ross!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to my dear friend Rainpuddle13 for her friendship and support with this fic, and many thanks to those of you who have been sticking with me through the hiatus, with your kudos and comments on this as well as the missing moment fics I've been writing. I also appreciate those of you who have recommended this stories and others to your friends out there in social media land! I'm hoping to get chapter 24 started this weekend and the rest of the story outlined so I can get down to it. I may have bitten off more than I can chew because I'm going to give the NaNoWrMo event a try. No clue what I'm talking about? You have to write a 50K word novel between 12:00 AM November 1 and 11:59 PM November 30. Eep! We'll see what happens!


	24. Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please Note: possible trigger warnings for kidnapping, physical assault and threats of sexual violence.**

 

“Captain Poldark!”

Ross slowed Seamus’s pace to a canter, turning in the direction of the shout. He could just make out the silhouette of a man on a horse about fifty yards to his left.

He had been very tired when Richard had asked him to cover his watch for the first part of the night, but he’d known if the shoe were on the other foot, the big Scot would not have hesitated to lend a hand. Besides, there was another reason he’d agreed to take the shift. Jefferson was out on night watch, and Ross had personally set the schedule to ensure the bastard was always paired with Richard or himself. Just to keep an eye on him. But something had bothered him from the moment he and Frederick Jackson had ridden out of camp nearly an hour before. He couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but he’d been filled with unease the further he’d ridden from his family’s wagon.

Ross raised his hand in greeting as he neared the man in the distance. “Evening,” he said, muffling a yawn behind his gloved hand.

“Evening, Ross,” Graves said through his teeth as he tugged on a hank of tobacco. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Yeah, Richard’s wife is ill and he didn’t want to be too far from camp,” Ross said, dismounting. He stretched, his hands braced against his lower back, to relieve some of the tightness in his muscles.

The trailmaster tilted a knowing glance at him. “You’d think this was his first child.”

“It _is_ Helen’s first.” Ross arched a brow at the old Scot. “You know how he dotes upon her.”

“Oh, ‘tis true, laddie,” Graham chuckled. “He was right to be by her side. But I know you pulled morning patrol the last two days in a row.” He looked at Ross, his own brows furrowing. “Are you certain you’re in any shape to be out here for the next three hours, son?”

“I should be all right,” Ross said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “Had several cups of coffee so I suppose that will have to tide me over until Ellingston and Stevenson take over at two o’clock.”

“In any event, if you get too tired, Judge said he could come back after a few hours of sleep.” Graves pointed in the direction of the riverside, where another man watered his horse. The moon slid out from behind the clouds, the bright light playing off the bright blond head of Steven Judge.

Ross froze. “Judge? What is Judge doing out here?”

“He was here when I came out to relieve Sheehan.” Graves frowned. “Said Jefferson had asked if he could switch watches with him. Said he wasn’t feeling right and wanted to stay close to camp so he took the animal shelter.”

“Demelza.” Fear uncoiled within Ross’s stomach.

“What is it, Ross?” Grant said, his entire bearing shifting to alertness.

“It’s Jefferson!” Ross grabbed ahold of a healthy length of Seamus’s mane and flung himself up into the saddle. “No time to explain. I need to return to camp. Now.” He wheeled the horse’s head back towards camp and dug in his spurs.

They flew across the hard packed earth; Ross crouched over the horse’s neck, his thighs burning as they worked to keep him clear of the saddle. He was reckless with speed, mindless of gopher holes that could seriously injure or kill both of them. He _knew_ this was the opportunity Jefferson had been waiting for, and he cursed himself for not being more careful. Flashes of images sped through his brain: Demelza hurt…abused… and a rage unlike any Ross had known before boiled up from the deepest part of his gut.

 _“No one will ever raise their hand to you again, Demelza, and if someone should, I will end them.”_ He’d spoken those words to her the morning after they’d made love for the first time, when he’d seen the damage her father had inflicted upon the fair skin of her back. He’d meant them even more so now than he had at that moment, although he hadn’t thought that possible.

He leaned forward in the saddle. “H’yaw!” he hissed in Seamus’s ear. “Faster!”

The trip that had taken him nearly an hour had been covered in half that time. He came around the rock formation near the spot where they’d made camp and was gratified to see the entire camp alive with activity, awash in firelight. He sawed on the reins to slow the horse, entering the wagon circle at a blistering canter. He saw Richard, Dwight, Drake and Joshua standing near the Poldark wagon.

“Ross! Be careful, man!” Richard exclaimed as Ross leapt off the horse’s back before the beast had come to a complete stop, landing on the ground in a graceless stumble.

“Never mind me,” Ross barked. “It’s Jefferson, isn’t it?”

“Mr Poldark, sir,” Joshua said, squaring his shoulders. “I saw him playing the peeping tom with Miss Demelza and Miss Helen a few weeks ago.”

Ross felt the colour drain from his face. “What in the he--”

“--Joshua and his entire family were threatened with lynching if he said anything, Ross,” Richard intervened. “But yes, we think he has both Demelza and Geoffrey Charles.”

Ross cast his eyes around their campsite and took in the broken crockery, the scuff marks in the dirt, and what was left of the paper boat Geoffrey Charles had shared with him only that evening. Crumpled and stained with spilt tea, the imprint of a man’s boot heel clearly outlined in mud. Adrenaline and blind rage caused Ross’s vision to blur around the edges. The bastard dared to take what wasn’t his. He would pay for that.

“When.” It was a statement, pure and simple. Ross shot a glance at Drake who wordlessly handed him the spare pistol he’d pulled from the wagon.

“I’m not sure, Ross,” the lad admitted. “I left her about a half hour after you headed out.”

“The kettle was still warm when I got here,” Richard pointed out, pointing to the dented tea kettle on the ground. “They canna have got far, mate.”

Ross nodded. _Maybe enough time to get to the horses_ , he thought to himself. But would he? Ross may have despised the man, but he acknowledged that Jefferson was not stupid. Far from it, he was cunning. He would know he’d draw attention riding out from camp at this hour of the night, particularly if he’d made a show of being under the weather. Which he certainly would have done. If not the horses, then where? Had he taken them down by the river? It was shallow enough to cross in places. Perhaps they were on the other side by now? All of the speculation did nothing but make Ross feel more desperate and afraid for his family. It would not serve them for him to be panicked. They needed him to be calm, focused and precise in his thinking.

He loaded the gun, pulling bullets from his belt and easing them into the cylinder in a ritualistic manner. The rhythm of his movements began order his thoughts, preparing him for what was to come.  

He looked at Richard, snapping the barrel shut. “Get your rifle, MacGowan.”

Richard nodded, his feet already moving. “Meet you in two minutes.”

“Ross, let me come with you,” Drake begged, grasping hold of Ross’s arm.

“Son, I’m not intending on having a conversation with the man,” Ross snapped. Drake’s body stiffened at his tone. He grimaced, and then scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Drake.”

He hung his head. “S’alright, I understand, Ross,” the lad mumbled.

“You know I trust you, and it is a blessing for you to be out here with your sister and me.” Ross cupped Drake’s cheek to raised the boy’s eyes to meet his. “This is going to be very dangerous, Drake. Your sister would never forgive me should something happen to you.”

“B-But he’s got GC,” the boy stuttered. His eyes – so very like his sister’s – were dark and pleading. “He…he’s like a brother to me, Ross. And Demelza…” He paused, his voice breaking. “And now you’re going after him. You’re all the family I have in the world, Ross. Please. Let me come with you.”

Despite the anger pumping through his veins, Ross was more moved than he’d cared to admit. This boy, who’d turned thirteen only weeks ago, was becoming more of a man with each passing mile they traveled towards Bush Prairie. He nodded. “Get the rifle.”

Drake scrabbled over to the supply wagon where the rifle was housed as instructed. He’d returned and was loading the weapon with near military precision just as Richard strode back to join them, accompanied by Lesley Thibodaux and Jacob Fellows. Each man was armed.

“Ross,” Jacob said, clearly dismayed about the situation. “I had no idea he would do something like this.”

“We’ll have time to disassemble the situation after we resolve it,” Ross vowed. “Let’s go.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Mr Andersen!” Demelza cried as they entered the animal shelter. She pressed Geoffrey Charles’s head against her neck to shield his eyes. The usually happy young Swede was lying in a pool of blood, a nasty, oozing cut on his temple. She struggled against Jefferson’s hold upon her arm. “You’ve killed him!” she shouted.

“Shut up, bitch!” Jefferson hissed in her ear. His hand tightened like a vice. “One more shout like that and I’ll slit you from ear to ear.” Her knees grew watery at the sadistic promise in his voice. “Besides, he’s not dead, but he won’t bother us for some time yet.”

She did her best to glower up at him, praying he’d not see through her false bravado; she was absolutely terrified. She knew that if someone didn’t come to rescue them or -- failing that -- she didn’t come up with a way to escape that Grant Jefferson would carry out every single threat he’d uttered since his arrival at her wagon.

“Why me?” she blurted, surprising herself. She hadn’t intended to say that aloud.

Grant looked at her. “Why _not_ you?” He nudged her forward, his hand holding her around the back of her neck. “There were plenty of women on this train I could have chosen to trifle with. That Caroline Penvenen is a tasty piece, and I’ll admit the prospect of getting between her thighs has given me more than a couple night’s of rough sleep.” His thumb brushed her nape. It took everything within Demelza not to scream at his vile caress. “You looked like you’d be a hellcat in the sack. Thought that the first minute I saw you, with your red hair and siren’s eyes. And since we’ve been out here on the trail, you’ve proven my suspicions, as you well know.”

She shuddered at the memory of his earlier taunts, that he’d listened to her as she’d made love with Ross, and had taken his own sexual pleasure in it. The violation of something so private and intimate between she and her husband made the gorge in her stomach heave, her salivary glands twitch.

“When I get you from here, some place quiet,” he crooned, that sweet southern drawl of his becoming more pronounced with each word, “I’ll tie that little brat of yours up by the horse and strip you out of that fine dress you’re wearing. I’ll taste every inch of you before you take what I have to give you.” He was panting, his breath hot in her ear. She could see him rubbing himself as he spoke, her revulsion nearing its breaking point. He leaned close. “And you’ll make those noises when you ride my cock very soon, you whore.”

She slid bonelessly to her knees. Geoffrey Charles tumbled down beside her, crying her name and clinging to her skirts in fear. The gorge rose, the acid burning her throat and nose as it spattered the hard packed ground beneath her.  Her vision grew dark in front of her as she envisaged the terror that was to come.

~*~*~*~*~*~

They’d set up the shelter a good distance away from camp to take advantage of the available grasses. The men moved quickly, yet silently, Ross doing everything he could to focus his attention on the task at hand. He’d only known Demelza little more than three months, had married her within days of their first meeting and yet she had become the centre of his universe. To have everything that he’d gained from the stroke of pen to parchment taken so soon after he’d fully recognized what she’d come to mean to him? The prospect pumped oxygen into the fire of his anger like a smithy’s bellows.

They searched the riverside for any sign of footprints and found none. As they neared a small copse of trees, Ross’s eye caught a glimpse of pale blue on a bush. He knelt, his fingers drawing out a length of ribbon, one of the same ribbons he’d bought for his new bride on their wedding day. _His very smart and resourceful bride,_ he thought to himself with a smile. “We’re on the right track, gentlemen,” he whispered, holding up his find.

Drake gasped. “Demelza’s!”

Richard squeezed the boy’s shoulder. Ross could see tears in the lad’s eyes. “He’s moving towards the animal shelter. Come on.”

Ten minutes later, they reached the edge of the shelter. “Ross?” A voice hissed in his ear. It was Richard, laying his hand on Ross’s shoulder and bringing them to a halt. “I can hear voices.” Ross stilled, pricking his ears to listen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Saddle the horses.” Jefferson’s brusque order shook Demelza from her thoughts. He held out his hand. “I’ll hold on to the kid.”

Geoffrey Charles shifted nervously at his words. She’d been slow to recover from the nausea that had rolled through her moments ago. The wall withholding the memories of her assault showed chinks in its mortar that she was desperate to fill. It was only the small body trembling against her that gave her clarity enough to rise to her feet to face the monster behind her.

She turned her head in the direction of Jefferson’s nod towards the black gelding next to her. Although her arms ached from holding Geoffrey Charles, she couldn’t help a knot of fear from forming in her throat at the command. While she held him, she knew she could offer him protection, feeble as it was, her own body if need be. Not if he was in Jefferson’s hands.

Her brain scrabbled for a strategy forward, to get him off his guard so that she could give the boy their cue for his escape. She had it in an instant: charm and flattery. He’d used both skills with everyone on the train. And pride and vanity were his Achilles’ heel. And she knew he wanted her, so she added lust to the reprobate’s list of deadly sins. She would use all of this to her advantage. Could she manage the weakening wall of her own fears in order to be convincing?

She’d had a vague recollection that the black gelding was named Zeke, having once overheard his bragging about the horse’s pedigree to Richard. She would start with that. It was time to begin.

“Alright, honey, you mind what Mr Jefferson tells you,” she said softly, setting the boy on the ground. The look of distress in her nephew’s eyes nearly broke her heart. She hoped he’d remembered what they’d discussed outside of the shelter. “You understand?” The lad swallowed and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

“Good kid,” Jefferson sneered, reaching out to cup his hand around the back of the boy’s head and drew him up against his side. The sheath of the Bowie knife was within an inch of his hand. “Get on with it.”

She nodded and walked over to the horse. “His name is ...Zeke, isn’t that right?” she asked, running her hand along the gelding’s flank. She cast a glance at Jefferson who was clearly intrigued that she’d known the name.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jefferson responded, some of the genteel southern charm she’d first encountered in the early days of their journey. His eyes followed the stroke of her hand along Zeke’s neck. “Won him in a card game off a man from Kentucky. Rumoured to have some thoroughbred blood in him.”

“He’s a mighty fine horse,” she said. She picked up the halter from the pile of tack Jefferson had thrown on the ground upon their arrival and looped it over Zeke’s broad head. “Can he carry the three of us?”

Jefferson stared at her blankly. “What?”

“Well, unless you plan on stealing one of these other horses, Zeke will have to carry all three of us,” she reasoned. Her hand closed on the bridle and she nudged the big horse forward until she stood within feet of Jefferson.  “And if they send out someone to search for us, we won’t be able to ride at speed.” He glanced at the boy, his expression darkening. “Grant,” she said, willing her voice to remain low and calm. “Please let Geoffrey Charles go.” She touched his chest, revulsion filling her throat, but pressing on. “If you let him go, I’ll come along with you, willingly. I’ll give you no trouble.”

“The kid’ll blab to the camp before we had a chance to get clear.” Jefferson frowned in consideration.

Demelza could tell she’d found a chink in the man’s armour. “Not if I tell him to count to one hundred,” she offered. “It’s something he’s been practicing during our travel. I’ll set him to counting as soon as the horse is saddled. By the time he’s finished we could be long gone.” She looked down at her nephew. “Can you count to one hundred when I ask you to, GC?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Geoffrey Charles’s scream split the night. “Uncle Ross! Uncle Ross!”

Ross saw the boy dash out of the entrance, his eyes wild with fear. It was as if all of the sound in the world had been extinguished. The desperation that had quavered around Ross for the last hour stilled, supplanted by crystaline focus.

“GC!” he shouted, “over here!” The lad swung his head around in the direction Ross’s voice and hurtled into his arms.

“Uncle Ross, that bastard has Auntie Dede!” GC wailed against his neck.

Ross would have laughed if he’d been able to make a sound past the lump in his throat.  He motioned to Drake. “Keep an eye on GC here, please, Drake,” he whispered, his voice gruff with emotion. Drake nodded, pulling the young boy into his arms. Ross motioned Richard, Jacob and Lesley to his flanks and, with a nod, moved on to the shelter to rescue his wife.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The horse startled and reared from GC’s screams, tossing its head and jerking the reins out of Demelza’s hands. She was knocked to the ground, her hip taking the brunt of her weight.

Jefferson was thrown off balance as the animal bolted for freedom. “Goddammit, I will kill you both,” he bellowed, scrambling to his feet. He grasped hold of her hair, causing her to cry out, tears stinging her eyes.

 _Oh God, Ross, please hurry,_ she thought to herself as her attacker hauled her to her feet. She saw light glint off the Bowie knife as it moved towards her face the instant an explosion rang through the shelter.

Jefferson froze. Demelza tore her eyes away from the knife to see Richard MacGowan standing at the opening of the shelter, a smoking rifle braced against his shoulder. The animals lowed and brayed, fearful of the noise, and began to jostle around against their hobbles.

Ross stood next to him, gun in hand and leveled at Jefferson’s head. His body was as taut as a bow string. Wrath had hardened his features into something carved from granite. Hatred and fury blazed in his beautiful, changeable eyes.

She’d never been happier to see another person in her entire life.

“Jefferson,” Ross growled, his voice dark and ominous. “Take your hands off my wife. Now.”

“Your wife?” Jefferson mocked. “ _She_ is the one who came to me, wanted to run away with me! All of that fear and trembling she did over me? It was all a fabrication--”

“--That’s a lie, Ross,” Demelza shouted, infuriated. “You know it’s a lie! I would never--”

“--All of those coy glances, the conversations--”

“--He’s mad, Ross!” she cried. Jefferson’s grip tightened, tangled in the hair at her nape. It made her eyes sting with pain. “None of that ever happened!”

“I know, Demelza” he said, calmly, although Demelza was certain it was the calm before the storm. “Jefferson, let her go and we can discuss this as rational men.”

“Not one step closer, Poldark.” Jefferson wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. The other swung the Bowie knife up against her neck. The chill of the blade beat against the pulse that hammered in her throat. “Put the gun down or I slit her like a goat. All of you!” He jerked her closer, the sour smell of sweat strong in her nostrils, making her gag. “Drop your weapons!”

Ross gave a slight nod to the men behind him. They lowered, then dropped their guns and rifles to the ground. Ross’s eyes flickered to hers for an instant before returning to meet Jefferson. He holstered his gun. “It’s too late, man. Surely you must know that!”

Jefferson shifted them around, clearly making their way towards the entrance to the shelter. The posse of men moved along with them, step for step “You’re gonna let us out of here or I bleed her dry.”

A grunting snort was issued directly behind them. _Bite,_ Demelza thought. _Oh, Bite!_ The Poldarks’ temperamental ox, nearly two tons in weight, was only steps away from Jefferson’s left arm. Drake was the only person who could go near Bite and come away unscathed. He tolerated Demelza, for the most part, because she would treat him to leftover corn muffins. All others kept their distance from the beast.

If she could only move the bastard back a few feet to bring him into closer proximity of its yellow teeth….

“Ross, do as he says!” she wept, backing in closer against the man. She shuddered. “I admit it, I wanted to run away with him!” She felt Jefferson’s hold slacked in surprise, the knife blade no longer pressing into her throat. She raised her eyes to Ross, willing him to understand what she was attempting to do. She turned to face Jefferson, the look of surprised satisfaction gleaming in those gray eyes, and stepped forward, pressing her hands to his chest as if to kiss him.

She used all the strength she had left to shove Jefferson backwards against the rope next to Bite. The ox bellowed and snorted at being disturbed. His teeth clamped down onto Jefferson’s elbow. The man howled, the sound of breaking bone filling the air. He dropped the knife as he tumbled onto the ground under the ox’s hooves. Jefferson screamed twice more until the ox’s hoof knocked him unconscious.

Demelza stumbled towards Ross. He met her in two strides, his arms gathering her against him in a grip strong enough to crack her ribs. All of the fear and anxiety of the last few hours broke from the dam she’d built and she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you all enjoy Series 2? I'm emotionally drained and actually kind of ready for a break. For about a day. Then, of course, I'll want Series 3. Not quite ready for the conversation to end? See below for more details....
> 
> Thank you so much for your support! I never expected that when I adopted this fic bunny from Rainpuddle13 that I would be staring close to 120,000 in the face! Her expertise on story crafting has been invaluable in the structure and flow of this tale. Without her help and friendship this story would have been dead in the water within the first three chapters. 
> 
> Thank you, Rain.
> 
> I am working on the remaining chapters of this story as part of my participation in the National Novel Writing Month Challenge. I have until November 30th to write another 50,000 words. I am WOEFULLY behind now (I need to average 1600/day and as of today I've only clocked in 4000 since the first...yikes!), but hope to really crank up the count in the days to come. If you want to keep up with my progress, check out my [novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/mmmuse/novels) on the NaNoWriMo website.
> 
> I've also started a dedicated Tumblr blog called [mmmuse writes](http://mmmusewrites.tumblr.com) where I will post news about all of my writings: fan fictions and original work. Once NaNoWriMo is finished, I plan to start work on my original work, a modern day erotica novel tentatively titled "The Townhouse". More info to come about this project will be posted on Tumblr. 
> 
> Finally, I've joined a couple of other fangirls of the books and show for a podcast called, oddly enough, [Poldark Podcast](https://poldarkpodcast.tumblr.com/)! We've been talking about the episodes, the books and have plans to continue the discussion post series 2 starting next week. Hope you'll check it out! I do warn you... I have a bit of a trashy mouth, so I strongly recommend you keep the kids out of the room or car if you're listening without the benefit of headphones. 
> 
> Take care and hope to hear from you soon!


	25. Casper, WY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Ross stood in front of the Fellows wagon, where they’d brought Jefferson after the attempted kidnapping. Four nights had passed when Ross had been urgently called to the wagon by Jacob. “I’d not bother you, Ross, but Doc Enys says he doesn’t think Grant will last the hour.” 

It had taken more than two. Ross had witnessed the man take his last, tortured breath, defiant in his silence until the end. 

He walked back to the bright blue wagon, after a meeting with the train’s council, consisting of Graves, Stevenson, Ellingston, and himself, along with witnesses from the night in question. The ox had been thorough. Dwight’s initial assessment of crushing injuries to his chest and abdomen had been confirmed post-mortem and extended to include internal bleeding and blood poisoning. The decision was made to bury Jefferson before they lost the last of the daylight, despite being less than a day outside of Casper. Neither of the Fellows wished to have anything else to do with him again.

Ross felt impotent with suppressed fury. He understood the reason why men demanded the satisfaction of dueling, although he freely admitted that what he’d longed to do to Jefferson would never have been considered as civilized as a duel. And now, the members of the council wanted to question Demelza to get her account of the event? 

“Over my dead body,” he muttered aloud as he lifted the flap to their tent.

“What did you say, Ross?” Demelza whispered from her nest in the buffalo robes. She smiled at him, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes, as she brushed GC’s hair away from his forehead. 

The boy had taken to sleeping with them since their attempted kidnapping, and rarely left her side during the day. And who could blame him? He’d been almost hysterical when Ross had carried Demelza from the shelter, limp and lifeless in his arms; after all, the boy had already lost one mother. He’d clung to Ross’s leg, sometimes wailing Demelza’s name, at other times calling her “mama”. Not the traditional way they’d said it in England, with the accent on the last syllable, but as the American children had done. Ross wondered about the advisability of this, but Demelza hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Nothing of importance, my dear,” he offered, dropping the flap and sitting down to remove his boots. She gently extracted herself from the boy’s embrace and rose to her knees, shifting over to where Ross sat. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to, Ross,” she murmured, giving his boot an expert tug. She set it aside, stroked his foot and began to work on the other. “Is he dead?”

She’d said this without looking at him, and he found he needed to see her eyes when he confirmed it. He rested his hand on her shoulder before using it to raise her chin, from her task. The bruising around her neck had diminished, but still showed greenish-yellow against her fair skin. Her eyes were dark, glistening with tears, and it fairly tore his heart in two. 

He drew her into his arms, leaving them loose around her waist as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, my love,” he murmured against her hair and felt her burrow closer to his chest, her arms slipping around his waist to draw him tight. “He’s dead and he’ll never harm you again.”

She began to cry, silent sobs that shook her shoulders. He could feel the damp, tortured exhalations from her mouth, pressed hard against the hollow of his throat. He stroked her hair, helpless to do much more for her for fear she would tense at his touch. It had happened a few times since her ordeal and despite her protestations to the contrary, Ross couldn’t help but worry that the progress she’d made in putting Polgarry’s assault behind her had shattered to dust.

In time, her cries subsided until they remained only as a soft hiccup of tremulous breathing near his ear. Her hair smelled of the lavender chamomile oil Betsy Robinson had insisted Demelza use when she went to sleep at night, to help calm her. As much as he liked it, he missed the cinnamon that had been so much a part of their brief courtship. He nudged that thought back into the corner of his mind. 

“Hold me tight, Ross,” she whispered fiercely, as if she’d earlier thoughts. “Never let me go.”

He wasted no time in complying with her wishes. He scooped her up to sit in his lap, his arms crushing her to him. She kissed the side of his neck, the tip of her tongue sneaking a sample of the skin under his jaw and he was unable to bite back the groan that escaped his lips. “D-Demelza.” He shifted back to look into her eyes, her need for him unmistakable. He found himself rigid and moved to shift her body away from the evidence of his desire for her. “Surely not.”

She nestled closer and laid her hand on his cheek. “You’ve been so attentive to me these last few days, Ross,” she said softly. “I know you worry for me, for that I’ve gone through before and now, once again. And I had my own fears the first couple of days. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to bear your touch. God only knows if that would have been the case if he’d been able to—”

“—Don’t say it, love,” he interrupted her. He couldn’t bear it. “What happened to you and GC was bad enough without speculating about the worst.”

“Yes, Ross,” she murmured, cupping his face in her hands and stroking his whiskery cheeks with her thumbs. She’d once told him she felt like she was petting a giant cat when she did that, particularly given how he’d purr his satisfaction with the loving attention. “I’ll not allow what happened to hinder what we have.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she kissed him silent. “I’ve not wanted to speak of this until I knew he was dead. Now that he is gone, I need to speak of it.”

“Would not the morning be better, Demelza?” Ross asked. “We could have Richard and Helen watch the lads so we could have more privacy and not worry about whispering.”

“What I have to say doesn’t require privacy,” she promised. “And we will be in Casper for a few days, correct?” Ross nodded. “Then let me just say that the entire time I was with Jefferson, I knew you would stop at nothing to discover what had happened and find us. The love you’ve shown me, what I’ve seen you give so freely to our boys, it was what sustained me.” Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “It helped me focus on what I had to do in order for us to see you again.”

“Demelza,” Ross whispered, his own eyes stinging.

“Promise me, when we reach Casper, that we will have a night on our own.” 

Her eyes were fierce despite her tears. He swallowed his fears and nodded.

“Mama?” A small voice came from the buffalo robes. They both turned to find GC staring sleepily at them, his blond hair a fright. The American pronunciation gave Ross a pang. Geoffrey Charles was only four years of age. Ross wondered how much of his own life he remembered from that tender age, and whether his nephew would be able to remember the woman with honey blonde hair who’d given him life. It made him unaccountably sad and something must have shown on his face, for Demelza brushed the underside of his jaw with her fingers and turned to cuddle down with the lad. 

“GC, sweetheart,” she crooned, smoothing the tangling blond curls into some form of order. “We talked about you calling me ‘Mama’, do you remember.” She looked up at Ross, her eyes pleading. 

Ross nodded, pulling off his other boot, shucking out of his trousers and crawled into bed behind her. “Your mama was Elizabeth Poldark, and she was one of the most beautiful women in Cornwall.”

“Did you know her, Ma-Auntie Dede?” the boy asked, perking up. 

She shook her head. “I’m afraid not, sweetheart. And as much as I would love to have been your mama, it would break my heart if you ever forgot her.”

“You’ve so much of her in you, Geoffrey Charles,” Ross noted, rubbing his hand along Demelza’s spine. 

GC looked at his uncle before looking once again at his aunt. “But you saved me,” GC said simply, shifting closer to rest his head against Demelza’s breast. “You took care of me and protected me from that man. You even told me to leave you alone with him if it meant I could get away.” He stopped, his brow furrowing. “It’s like the kittens from Fort Laramie.”

Ross frowned. “What about them?” They were simultaneously a delight and a plague, and one he wondered how he’d done without.

“When me and Drake decided to rescue them, it was because there was a big mean tom cat that was pestering them.” He looked up at them. “He even had one of the kittens by the scruff of its neck and was shaking it, hard.” It wasn’t uncommon for feral tomcats to kill the litter of a female cat in hopes of her going into heat. Ross wondered what else the lad had seen. “Before we could go in to scare him away, Jezebel went after him, and there was such a dust up!” The boy’s eyes sparkled with remembered amazement. “He ran hell bent for leather!”

“Geoffrey Charles!” Demelza scolded, shocked. “Where did you hear that term?”

The boy glanced at Ross who winced. “Thanks, my lad.”

“Anyway, what you did reminded me of what Jezza did for her kittens,” he reasoned. “She was being a good mama.” He turned somber. “After…after that night, I told Drake I wanted to call you mama, Auntie Dede.”

“You did?” she asked. 

The boy nodded. “He was the one who told me I should call you MA-ma, like the Jackson kids call their mum. That way, I would have a name for my mama back in Cornwall, and my Mama here on the prairie.”

Demelza’s eyes looked suspiciously bright and Ross drew her close to his side. “I think that sounds grand, GC,” he agreed, leaning forward to kiss the boy on the forehead. “Now it’s awfully late, so you should be off to bed now.”

He furrowed his brow. “Can’t I sleep here with you tonight?”

Ross smoothed away the tiny crease on Geoffrey Charles’s forehead. “One more night, my lad, then we’ll be in Casper. I’ve promised your auntie a treat for tomorrow night.” He leaned forward. “It involves a lot of kissing.”

The boy squealed with horror and fell back into the robes giggling from Ross’s tickling fingers. He caught Demelza’s smile out of the corner of his eye and grinned at her when she mouthed the words “thank you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Dammit, I hate cows,” Dwight grumbled. Ross smirked as he watched his friend scrape the worst of the manure off of his right boot. They were on their way from Sheriff Matthew Rose’s office to the wagon train’s campsite, crossing the wide, dusty street running through the middle of Casper. A large cattle herd that had come through town mere moments before the two men had attempted to run the gauntlet. Ross had fared better than his friend, who’d been too busy tipping his hat at an admittedly comely lass to pay attention to where he was walking. As a result, he’d had the inglorious delight of landing a foot squarely into a steaming pile of cow shit.

“Could have been worse,” Ross offered smugly, handing him a cheroot. “Could have been raining.” 

Dwight laughed and nodded his thanks. “You seem to be in good spirits,” he observed, giving his boot one last stomp to shake loose the last of the manure. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Ross drawled, lighting his cigar and offering the match to Dwight. “Demelza and I can begin to put the entire Jefferson nightmare behind us, now that that meeting is over.”

They’d gone straight to Rose as soon as they’d settled the train on the outskirts of town. While the Poldarks and the MacGowans had decided to spend the two days they were scheduled to be in town at the local boarding house, most of the members of the train planned to stay at their campsite. Unless restocking supplies were delayed in some way, of course. It was the height of the travel season on the Oregon Trail so if they’d arrived after another large train they could be stuck here for weeks. 

They had been lucky.

Ross had placed Demelza in charge of working with the other women on the train to pull together their supply lists so he could drop them off at the general store on the way to the sheriff’s office. 

_ She nodded, nibbling on her bottom lip out of nerves. “Is this too much for you, sweetheart?” he asked her, concerned he was pushing her too far, too fast after the incident.  _

_ “What?” she marveled, blinking up into his eyes. “Oh no, Ross, I’m glad of the task, truly.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you for trusting me with this.” _

_ “Of course, Demelza,” he’d chuckled, surprised. “The other women on the train look up to you.” He grinned at the owlish look of shock on her face at his statement. _

_ “Even now?”  _

_ Now it was his turn to look at her with disbelief. “What?” It was clear she hadn’t intended to blurt out her question. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. He gathered her against him. “You mean to think that they shouldn’t admire your strength and intelligence, after Jefferson’s despicable behavior?” _

_ “I did overhear a couple of the women tal _ — _ ” _

_ “ _ — _ Who?” Ross’s tone had been whipcrack sharp, stern enough to make Demelza flinch. Ordinarily, he was quick to apologize for startling her. Not today. “Don’t tell me: they were saying that you must have led the bastard on.” _

_ “Now, Ross, I don’t want to make any trouble,” she said hastily. _

_ “If you won’t tell me, I will find out another way, Demelza, you know I will.”  _

_ “Ross!” Her brows snapped into a straight line and she stomped her foot, glowering up into his face. “I know you think you are only doing what is right by defending me _ — _ ” _

_ “ _ — _ Damn straight,” he muttered.   _

_ “But I think it will go better once an official record of the incident has been documented.” She stepped out of his arms and started to pace. “Right now, it’s all rumor and innuendo. If there is a final reckoning about what happened, something that can be shared with everyone on the train, the truth of what happened then any further gossip can be dealt with swiftly and decisively.” _

_ He opened his mouth to argue, only to close it once again. Her logic was solid. “This will mean you will need to go over your account.” He watched her closely. He hadn’t wanted to press her, had held his deputy captains and Graves at bay. Perhaps he’d done her a disservice by doing so, for clearly she appeared to be determined to clear the situation up once and for all.  _

_ “I know,” she insisted, swallowing and patting her hair, a habit he’d noticed she’d do whenever she was nervous. She stopped fidgeting and reached for her hat. “And I’m ready.”   _

And, with that, she and her friends Helen MacGowan and Caroline Penvenen had accompanied them to the sheriff’s.

She’d been stronger than he’d given her credit for being. Why he was continually surprised by this said much more about him than it did her. She’d been thorough with her recollections, hadn’t wavered from the recounting of some of the most uncomfortable moments she’d suffered under Jefferson’s attentions. When she’d finished, she insisted on continuing her tasks on behalf of the wagon train and walked, arm in arm, down to the general store, accompanied by Caroline Penvenen and Helen MacGowan. “Don’t worry, Ross,” Helen had assured him, patting his arm with her small, gloved hand. “I’ll be sure to give her a strong cup of tea with a half a dram of Richard’s whisky when we get back to the wagons.”

That had been almost an hour ago. Testimony from Richard MacGowan, Steven Judge, Abraham Graves, and Johan Andersen of the events of that night. Joshua and Betsy Robinson shared their account of the peeping incident and the threats Jefferson had made towards their lives. Jacob Fellows shared what he’d witnessed of the night of the abduction. In the end, it was the surprise testimony of Ingrid Andersen and Eleanor Sheehan, who came forward with accounts of Jefferson’s behavior towards them during the very early days of their travels from Missouri, attentions that ended at the same time the man’s fixation upon Demelza seemed to begin that had put the final nail in the coffin. 

_ Demelza gasped upon learning the reason the two women entered Rose’s office. When asked why they’d chosen to come forward at this time, Eleanor Sheehan had burst into tears. “We’ve heard what some of the other women from the Ellingston party have been saying about you, Mrs Poldark,” the girl wept. “If only we’d said something before _ — _ ” _

_ “ _ — _ You cannot take on the burden of what happened onto your shoulders, Eleanor,” Demelza said gently , gathering the young woman against her. _

_ “Mrs Poldark has been kind and caring for all of us on the train, ever since we left Missouri,” Ingrid Andersen defended. _

_ “Even before,” Caroline said in agreement, placing her hand on Demelza’s shoulder. _

_ “Jefferson was the kind of man who would willfully misinterpret a woman’s kindness for something more,” Dwight offered. “And not take no for an answer.” _

_ Rose chewed on the corner of his moustache. “He sounds like a scoundrel.” _

_ “‘Scoundrel’ is far too quaint a word for the likes of him, Rose,” Ross growled. “He was a predator, one who took my wife and nephew as captive, injured them and threatened them with greater bodily harm unless they did his bidding.” He glowered out the window for a moment. “It would have given me no end of gratification to put an end to his miserable existence, if the beast hadn’t beat me to it _ — _ ” _

_ “ _ — _ I think I can reach a final conclusion, based on everything I’ve heard today, with the exclusion of your last comment, Captain Poldark,” Rose cautioned, casting Ross a cautionary look of consternation.  _

Rose agreed with the initial report from Graves: Grant Jefferson’s death had been declared an accident. He would be out to the train’s campfire later that evening to share his findings to the entire group. Finally, the unintended hero of the night, the oxen called Bite, would not be destroyed. 

Drake would be relieved.

“Demelza and Geoffrey Charles are looking better,” Dwight stated, jolting Ross from his thoughts. “The cut on GC’s ear has healed well and the bruises on Demelza’s neck should be gone within a week.” Ross’s teeth clenched down on the cigar. Every time one of Demelza or GC’s injuries were mentioned it made him want to thrash the life out of a dead man. “She...did mention that GC’s bed wetting has returned.”

Ross nodded. Only this morning he’d woken to discover Demelza blotting the buffalo robe on her side of their bedroll with wadded sheeting, the lad being helped out of his nightshirt by Drake. “We are going to do what helped the last time.”

“Don’t be surprised if it takes longer,” Dwight advised. “He needs reassurance of his safety, and that of his new ‘mama’.”

Ross stopped, the outskirts of their wagon train just coming into view. “Do you think he could manage a night away from her side?” He glowered at Dwight’s smirk. “Demelza was the one who asked me about it. She…” He paused, worried he would be breaking her confidence, but they’d shared much of their lives with Dwight, as their doctor and their friend. He waded in. “She is worried the incident has been a setback for her...our…”

Dwight nodded. “No need to go farther, Ross. Would you like for me to keep an eye on the boys tonight?”

Ross exhaled. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. “Dwight, are you certain?”

“Of course,” he smiled. “Tonight and any night you need.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me through this part of the story -- it was a tough one, especially for those of you with challenges with the subject matter. We are nearing the end of our tale, but not for another eight chapters or so, so don't panic! There will be a tiny time jump with the next chapter. 
> 
> Rainpuddle, thank you for all of your support with this story. I am in your debt, my friend.


	26. Cinnamon and Bay Rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In 1857, Ross Poldark leaves all he knows in Cornwall to reinvent himself in the untamed Washington Territory in the United States of America. There's only one small problem: who's to tend his young nephew and ward Geoffrey Charles along the way? An advertisement for a mail-order bride brings a breath of fresh Cornish air back into his life.

Demelza heard Sheriff Rose’s report to the community before taking her leave. It was thorough, and was beginning to quell some of the rumors surrounding what had quickly been called “The Jefferson Affair”. The phrase raised her hackles every time she’d heard it. As if it had involved some kind of willful leave-taking on her part to make it sound as fanciful as an “affair”. She found the sheriff to be fair and precise, and had been inwardly pleased to see some of the faces of the gossipmongers pale at the accounts that had come from so many of their fellow female companions. By the time all of the questions were answered, Demelza felt she could begin to put the whole ordeal behind her.

She left the meeting early, in order to settle her family in their rooms at the boarding house. She was reminded of the simplicity of the lodgings they’d had in Laramie and figured housing accommodations would be the same the further west they travelled. Not that she’d minded in the least. She liked the simplicity of the spaces they’d stayed and it made her wonder about the kind of home she and Ross could put together before the snows of winter came. It was late June, and based on Ross and Graves’s timetable, they wouldn’t be in Bush Prairie until late August or early September. It would give them only two months to secure and clear their land and build before the first snows came. She’d seen Joshua Robinson’s drawings, had been delighted with the boyish enthusiasm her husband had shown upon viewing them, but knew the building of something so solid, built for the centuries, would take more time than they would have.

She stopped her worrying,  _ for now _ , she told herself, and finished packing up a bag for the boys. Dwight would be there any moment.

 

“Good night, boys,” Demelza said, giving each of them a warm kiss on their cheeks. GC’s hug lasted several beats longer than the one she’d given Drake, and a part of her ached for what she’d asked of him. “GC, you will have a wonderful time with your Uncle Dwight, I know you will.” She looked up at their dear friend, whose expression was filled with humour and compassion before returning her gaze at the dark blue eyes and trembling mouth. “You all are going to watch for some shooting stars tonight.” She leaned close. “Dwight will take good care of you, love,” she whispered. “Can you make a wish for me on one of those stars?”

“Yes, Mama,” the boy whispered back, pressing another kiss on her cheek, his arms circling her neck once again. 

“My sweet lad.” She was amazed she was able to say anything through the lump that grew in her throat any time he called her “Mama”. “You’ve been such a good boy, ever since we left St Joseph, love. I’m so proud of you.” “I promise we will see you by the wagon tomorrow for breakfast.” She gave him a final cuddle, tucking a curl behind his ear before he stepped back to take his uncle’s hand. “Thank you, Dwight,” she said softly. 

He leaned forward and gave her a squeeze. “Anytime, Demelza. Don’t you worry.”

She was waving goodbye to her two young men when her grown up one came around the corner, several parcels in his hand.  “Be sure to count how many shooting stars you see, gentlemen!” he called to Dwight and the lads. He shifted his eyes to fix on hers, a mischievous smile quirking up one side of his face. “Good evening, Mrs Poldark.”

“Good evening, Captain Poldark,” she murmured, chuckling at the brow that arched high at the use of his title.

“Just Ross, if you please.” His available hand slid around her waist to draw her close. “Although I have to admit, I  _ do _ fancy the way that sounds.” He brushed his lips against hers. “Coming from these lips.”

She kissed him, gently at first, growing in hunger as the moments ticked by. Her toes curled at the hum rumbling up from his chest. She drew back reluctantly, gazing into the face of the man who had changed everything for her. “I love you.”

“Cinnamon girl.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I love you, too.” He gave her a last kiss before leading her into their room. “Is the room to your taste?”

“Oh yes, it’s fine,” she said, closing the door. She finished settling their clothing in the bureau and put her sewing basket on the floor near the hearth. During their travels she’d begun to put together some simple household linens they would require, but had spent most of her time working on the warmer clothing all of them would need. One project she’d enjoyed immensely was a kilt Helen MacGowan had asked her to help with for young Glenn. The garment was shaping up and would be finished just in time for the lad’s thirteenth birthday.

Once again, she wondered what Ross would look like in a kilt and grinned.

“What are you thinking about, Demelza?” Ross’s crooning voice made her blink. 

“Never you mind,” she said, peering over his arm. “What do you have there?”

He looked down. “A little something for you, to open a bit later,” he said, setting the smaller of the two packages down. “This second is for you to open now. Something for both of us.”

She peered up at him, suspicious. He was being rather cagey. “Ross,” she said warningly.

“Trust me,” he said, holding up his hands. “I may have more to worry about than you!”

She was completely baffled. She huffed out a breath and untied the string closing the brown paper. A rectangular box, heavier than it looked, sat in her palms. She gave him a look and lifted the lid. And sighed. 

A beautiful pearl handled straight razor lay nestled against black velvet. She withdrew the blade and smiled up into his eyes. “Tonight?”

Ross nodded, taking her into his arms. “Time for you to learn how to shave me, my dear.” She cuddled against him, relishing the warmth of his body and the safety of his embrace. He chuckled, kissing her temple. “Now, are you certain about this?”

He was right to ask her. Demelza had fallen in love with the softness of his beard along her body, once they’d gotten past the initial prickly phase. She’d likened him to a hedgehog and she smiled, remembering his teasing murmurs against her stomach, her ‘hedgehog’ wandering through her ‘hedgerows.’  _ Wicked man _ , she thought to herself. However, as much as she loved it, nearly four months later, there was a part of her that longed to see the face of the man who had swept her off her feet in St Joseph. 

The idea had come to her as they finished packing up to make the final push to Casper. 

_ “Can I have that last flapjack, Mama?” Geoffrey Charles asked as Demelza settled the boy into the back of the wagon.  _

_ She looked at it and the pieces of bacon she’d set aside for Ross. He’d been scarce most of the morning after telling her he had to attend to a dispute amidst the Ellingston wagons. “Yes, sweetie,” she said absently, reaching to pick up the plate when she heard her husband call her name. She glanced over her shoulder to find him striding up to the wagon gate, reaching for the plate with one hand whilst the other idly scratched at his chin. He’d been doing that quite frequently of late. _

_ He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth, frowning at what she knew to be a quizzical look in her eye. “Do I have something on my face?” he asked.  _

_ “Yes, you do,” she said archly. “That beard.” She tilted his head back and to the side, noticing the angry red scratches that marred the skin around the edge of the thick, black hair. “You are rubbing yourself raw, Ross. Maybe it’s time for you to shave it off?” _

_ He wiped his mouth with his bandana and gathered her close. “But you’ve said how you enjoyed the feel of it between your thighs, my darling, and I’ve a wish to please you with it tonight,” he murmured, low and – she hoped – outside of earshot of GC.  _

_ “I like your face unscratched even more,” she giggled breathlessly as he nibbled on her neck before kissing the squeak of embarrassment she’d uttered into non-existence. They were both looking forward to their night in town, as was clear from the longing she felt in his embrace. Geoffrey Charles’s squeal of disgust made them break apart. She pressed her hands to her overheated cheeks. “Geoffrey Charles Poldark, that is very impolite,” she managed to say with very little heat. He giggled and returned to his play. _

_ Ross chuckled. “Kissing you like that in broad daylight is fairly scandalous.” He brushed her nose with his. “In all seriousness, I’m quite eager to do away with the beard for a while.” She blinked up at him with surprise as he laughed and crunched on the last piece of bacon. “It’s damnably hot this time of year!” _

_ “You tease of a man.” She grinned up at him, stroking his silky cheek. “And I do love it., but I hate the thought of your being uncomfortable.” _

_ “Then off it will come,” he decided. _

She smiled up at him. “What shall we do first?”

~*~*~*~*~*

Ross took the box from her hands and set it on the dresser. He’d been surprised then relieved when she’d suggested shaving his beard that morning and would have cheerfully taken a blade to it at that very moment. That was before she’d so very coyly asked if he would teach her how to do it for him. 

The possibilities that had sprung to mind had been enough to keep him thoroughly distracted for the rest of the morning. Dwight’s teasing had been relentless. 

“We will need your scissors to start. It will be easier for you, and safer for me, if we start with less of this,” he said, scratching his chin once again. “Do you have them with you?”

She nodded. “I do, but I should sharpen them first,” she said, walking over to retrieve her sewing basket. She settled on the bed, removing a neatly folded plaid and placing it next to her before picking up her scissors. 

Curiosity killed the cat. “What is this?” Ross lifted a fold of the fabric. “Ah! Glenn’s birthday kilt.” He looked at her. “Might I see it?”

“It’s not finished, but it will be by tomorrow evening.” She ran the blades of her scissors over the sharpening stone and lifted a brow. “I promise, I’ll show you then.”

He caught the half-smile on her lips and wondered what she was plotting. “I’ll go get some water, minx,” he said, taking the pitcher. Ten minutes later, he mounted the stairs two at a time and walked back to the room. He could hear her humming through the door to their room and felt his heart warm at the sound. “I’ve enough water for the jo--” And stopped cold.  

She wore nothing but her nightrail, her figure illuminated from the bright light of the oil lamps. Her nipples tented the front of her garment; the scooped neck offered him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. The mole on her left breast winked in and out of view as she shifted her weight to walk towards him. The shadowed thatch of curls at the apex of her thighs made him itch to explore it. 

“You are so beautiful, Demelza,” he said, swallowing heavily, desire for her snaking through his joints and muscles. He set the pitcher of water down near the hearth and moved to her side, his fingers searching for hairpins within the heavy bun she’d worn all day. He had  missed a few of their nightly rituals during their travels, and they were something he’d come to anticipate whenever the sun sank over the horizon.

“Thank you, Ross,” she said, purring as the pads of his fingers massaged her scalp. 

“My pleasure.” He gently combed his fingers through her hair. “What do you call that again?” He gestured towards the cream coloured netting he’d tossed onto the dresser along with her hairpins. He’d noticed she had several that she had been experimenting with over the last few weeks. 

“Helen told me it’s called a snood,” she chuckled. “An odd name, but much easier for me to use than the fistful of pins you would have to fish around for, so late at night.” She turned to face him, looking good enough to eat. He leaned forward to take a bite, his mouth closing on the tender skin of her shoulder. She giggled and sighed, pressing her hands against his chest until she held him at arm’s length. “Not yet, sir! It’s your turn, now.” 

“Yes, ma’am!” he laughed. God, it felt good to laugh with her again. He brushed her lips with a kiss before sitting on the stool she’d pulled next to the bed. He closed his eyes as she untied the leather thong he used to club his hair. The heavy strands fell about his shoulders and he groaned when she ran her brush through it. “Perhaps it’s time to consider cutting my hair as well?” She gave him a poke on the shoulder with her index finger. “Ouch!” 

“I may agree to taking an inch or two off, if for no other reason than to see some of the curl come back to it.” She kissed the nape of his neck, making him shiver. “I love your hair, Ross…so handsome,” she said, her lips pressed to his ear. 

“Is it?” he drawled, catching her hand and pulling her around to stand between his legs. He buried his head between her breasts, breathing in the scent of her and running his hands up and down her back. He tilted his head, seeking and finding her lips with his. Her nails grazed his scalp, holding him still to nibble and feast upon his lips until he could stand no more. He rose to his feet, gathering her tight against him as he kissed her with unbridled need. His cock grew heavy against the curve of her sex and she arched against him, their tongues tangling.

“Ross,” she breathed several moments later as he eased back from her. She pressed her fingers to her temples, eyes dark with desire. “What you do to me.”

He was a bit dizzy himself. “Perhaps we should skip the shaving, cinnamon girl.” 

She grinned and shook her head. “I am determined, sir.”

“If we must,” he sighed, woefully. The feel of her body, free from its corset and petticoats almost too tempting to resist. Still, the anticipation would make it worth the wait. “We must.” She smiled knowingly, stepping out of his reach. He cleared his throat. “Gather your scissors and a pan of warm water and set them down here on the dresser.” He bent to take one last look at his face in the mirror. He could barely remember what he looked like under all of this fur. He blew out a breath, picked up a towel and his shaving kit. “Let’s get started.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Yes, Ross,” Demelza said, carrying out his instructions. She looked up, butterflies flitting about in her stomach as he unbuttoned his shirt, a sly grin on his face. They were both so  _ aware _ of one another tonight, every word or touch having the power to stir the senses. She’d known she was playing with fire when she hurriedly slipped out of her clothes to put on her nightrail. Her fingers had barely been able to unbutton her shirtwaist, they’d been shaking so much.  _ Well,  _ that _ had to stop _ , she told herself, particularly with what they had in store for the evening. 

“You will need steady hands and a calm heart for this,” he warned her as he settled on the stool. 

“You’re reading my mind, aren’t you, husband?” she chided him, plucking his shirt from his fingers and draping it over his chest. “Now, be still.” She began trimming the thick beard, a good two to three inches long in places, until it was barely a half an inch long. They chatted amiably as she went about this task, and she was delighted as, bit by bit, more and more of his own was revealed. 

Her enchantment must have shown, because he started chuckling when she finished, stepping away from him with a gasp. “Is it that bad?” 

“Of course not, Ross,” she said, her eyes fixed an inch or two below his chin to his chest. The mountain of black hairs covering his shirt stunned her.

He followed her gaze and laughed. “I never said it was going to be tidy.”

“Well… I know… but,” she said, carefully bundling up the shirt into her hands. “What shall I do with it?”

“Set it down near the window. We can shake it out in the morning, once we establish the coast is clear.” She did as she asked while Ross peered at his face in the hand mirror, pulling faces to take in his scraggly countenance. “In the meantime, tell me: do you fancy what you see?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, returning to his side, amazement still colouring her voice. She ran her hand along his strong jaw, a handsome sight so long hidden from her gaze, and he closed his eyes. The skin to nearly naked skin contact was delicious. “I swear it appears to have taken several years off your age. I mean, if I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you were twenty-six.”

“Oh, come now,” he scoffed, holding the mirror at arm’s length. 

“I wonder how the other men on the train will react when they see you in the morning, cheeks as smooth as a newborn’s bum.”

He looked at her over the mirror. “Demelza,” he grumbled warningly. 

She could not hold the giggles back any longer. “You silly thing, you.” She ran a warm cloth over his cheeks before sitting in his lap. “I can almost see the man I married in Mrs Sherman’s boarding house.” She kissed him. “It makes me eager to see the rest of it off.” He purred under her touch. Her big, black cat. “What happens next?”

He opened his eyes, glittering whisky-brown in the candlelight, linking their fingers together. “That I lie you down on this bed and make love to you.”

She shivered as his lips found her neck. Already, such a discernable difference. She felt the hardness of his cock under her bottom and came close to capitulating. “Please, not yet,” she whispered through gritted teeth and stood up. “Oh, I dare say that will most assuredly happen at some time tonight.” She looked into his smouldering eyes and swallowed. “Soon. But let’s finish this, my love,” she murmured. “Tell me the next steps.”

She had no idea it was so involved. First, hot, damp towels to soften the beard, followed by properly soaking the brush, shaking off the excess. Lathering the beard, using swirling motions to make sure the soap surrounded each hair. Holding the blade with a light hand and draw in the direction of the hair growth. By the time he finished explaining she had to ask him. “Are you sure you want me to do this for you?”

“I never would have asked you if I wasn’t sure.” The teasing light in his eyes turned serious as his smile softened into one of heart melting tenderness. “I trust you with my life, you know that,” he said.  He picked up the straight razor, tilting the tail of the steel to reveal the blade from the scales. The blade’s edge rang and he brushed the pad of his thumb against it. “This is a delicate job, one in which you will need a steady hand. Now that you know what needs to be done, I’ll ask you one last time: do you think you can?”

She nodded. “I know I can.”

He closed the blade and placed it into her palm. “I am in your hands, Mrs Poldark.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I will give you the rest of our lives to stop doing that,” Ross groaned. The towel felt heavenly against his face, made better by the gentle, circular pressure of Demelza’s fingertips along the underside of his jaw. Her sultry laugh of promise was almost enough to make him retract that statement. He could hear the sound of the shaving brush clattering against the sides of the porcelain mug he’d used since he first learned how to shave at the tender age of fifteen, smiling at the realization she would be the only other person to ever to touch it again. 

“This reminds me of whipped cream,” she said, setting the mug down on the dresser and pulling the blade along the strop he’d tied to the back of the chair. He pulled the towel free, shaking it out to drape across his chest. “Not very tasty, though.” He laughed at her wrinkled nose, tilting his head back at the touch of her fingers under his chin, looking up at her face, framed between her breasts. She, very wisely, had focused her attention on smoothing the lather on his cheeks as instructed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. His cock, semi-erect from their earlier playfulness pulsed into life at the sight. His shifting mood must have been noticeable, for she blushed when her eyes met his. “Ross.”

“Yes, my dear?” he crooned. 

“Don’t distract me.” He nodded, duly chided. She opened the blade, holding it as he’d instructed her and tilted his head to the left, drawing the skin taut. 

“Deep breath in, easy on the stroke,” he whispered, closing his eyes. A second later he felt the gentle pull of the blade along his cheek, the hiss and rasp of the hair against the blade filling the room. She gave a small giggle when she finished. “Success?

“Oh yes, Ross!” she breathed. ”Oh, I’ve never been so nervous before in my life!”

“Well, this is probably not the best time to tell me that,” he teased.  He opened an eye to wink at her. “Carry on, darling.” She moved with efficiency, taking her time when she reached his jaw and chin. He relaxed to the rhythm she set, the occasional swish of the razor in the pan of water. She was effusive in her apologies when she’d nicked him, and insisted on continuing even after after he’d teased her, saying he was quite content in having only one scar on his face. Once he’d reassured her of his faith in her skills she finished up everything, save his upper lip. She asked if he could show her how to handle this task with confidence. She held the mirror, giggling as he drew down his upper lip to gain access to the skin under the right side of his nose, but was eager to try on the left as soon as he finished. 

She stood between his legs to prepare, arching a brow at him as his hands stroked the back of her thighs. “Surely you don’t wish for me to slice off your nose!” she quipped.

“I trust you,” he murmured. She looked him straight in the eye, stepping closer until the scent of lavender, vanilla, and the musk of her arousal filled his nostrils. His hands twitched, moving up and over her buttocks, giving them a squeeze. “Steady, Demelza.”

“I need you to make love to me, Ross, and as much as I want you, making love with you while you’re wearing a one-sided scraggly moustache simply will not do.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Then quickly, my girl! Calmly and quickly.” She was done in a thrice. He was on his feet in seconds, reaching for the cold water in the ewer and splashing his face. 

She blotted his skin the instant he finished, smoothing bay rum along his bare cheeks with her hands. “Hello again, my husband,” she whispered, pulling him down for her kiss. 

They fed upon one another, the touch of her hands against his neck, fragrant with his aftershave made him groan against her mouth. He held her tight before dragging fistfuls of her nightrail up her legs and over her buttocks. “I’m afraid this may be quick,” he rasped in her ear, easing back to pull the garment over her head. “I must have you now.”

“Yes, Ross,” she panted, her fingers trembling as they flew down the buttons of his trousers and into his drawers, closing around his oversensitive cock. He groaned, thrusting hard against her hands. She kissed his chest, her teeth and tongue finding his nipple. He bent, scooping her into his arms and tossing her lightly onto the bed.  “Wait! Your boots!”

“F-Fuck my boots,” he growled, shoving his trousers and drawers down his legs. She laughed and moaned at the same time, rolling off of the bed and onto her knees, frantically tugging first one, then the other boot from his feet as he steadied himself. His cock bounced as he hopped, dissolving his wife into a fit of the giggles. “Good God, woman, are you trying to unman me?” he all but whined in desperation.

She shook her head, giggling and laughing as she crawled back up onto the bed. The sight of her naked ass and her quim, slickened with her body’s dew, was the breaking point. He reached for her, shifting her legs apart and leaned forward. 

“Ross!” It was a combination of a shriek and a squeak, ending in a moan of near ecstasy. He’d never tasted her from this position, and he made a hazy mental note not to forget it. His tongue bathed her, slipping between the lips of her sex to stroke and curl around her plump clit. She writhed back against him as he brought her to her climax, before turning her to lie on her back while he sipped from her once more, rubbing his newly shaven cheeks against the inside of her thighs and delighting in her squirms and cries. 

He brought her to the edge over and over, his fingers squeezing and caressing her body until he could take no more. He rose, pressing down the mattress with one knee. Her eyes were half closed, but glowed with near-feral need. “Now, Demelza?” he asked hoarsely, crawling up the bed to lie between her legs, thrusting his cock along her slit.

“Please,” she cried, her nails digging into his trembling upper arms.

He kissed her, shifting his hips and plunging deep, plunging home.

 

Hours later, sunlight eased through the curtains, slanting across Ross’s closed lids bright enough to make him wince. He shifted his head, opening his eyes to find himself alone, the imprint from Demelza’s head still fresh in the pillow. A sound startled him and he sat up to find his wife, standing gloriously nude, settling a pan of hot water on the dresser. 

“Demelza?” he said, running his hand along his bristly jaw, his voice hoarse from sleep. And other things. 

“Good morning, Ross,” she said softly. “Twice a day, if I remember correctly?” She nodded at him, her eyes following his movements. She picked up the razor, gliding it along the strop with long, deliberate strokes. “We’ve a couple of hours before we’re due to the wagon for breakfast.” She smiled, eyes full of love and laughter. “And practice makes perfect, yes?”

Ross smiled in agreement. What a lucky man he was.

 

*~*~* THE END *~*~*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must, as always, extend my thanks and gratitude to my dear friend and beta Rainpuddle13, for gifting me this fic bunny to begin with, and for her continuous support and talking to when needed, and it has been needed at times, let me tell you. And I must thank my two anonymous friends who have helped me with researching PTSD for Demelza's story, and for Vickymaus/Vitiscouso for the wonderful artwork she gifted me. And I want to thank all of you who have given this story kudos, have shared your comments and encouragement and have told your friends about the story. It has, and will continue to mean the world to me. 
> 
> I know I said I thought we had more to go, but to honest, this is the perfect place to end this part of the story.
> 
> Yes. I said PART. The story will continue in **Nisqually** , to include the final journey, settlement and the first year of life in Poldark's Prairie. I hope you will join me!

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks for sticking with me through the first chapter of this story. I hope you found it intriguing enough to see what happens next. Please leave me your comments -- this is a new experience for me, so I'm COMPLETELY open to your feedback for improvements. 
> 
> Got started with the research by discovering [George Washington Bush](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Washington_Bush), one of the very first African-American land owners in Washington Territory and from where Bush Prairie takes its name. From Wikipedia:
> 
>  _The Bushes and the other five families established a settlement, named Bush Prairie, at the southernmost tip of Puget Sound in what is now Tumwater, Washington. Bush and Michael Simmons built the area's first gristmill and sawmill, and Bush helped finance Simmons' logging company._  
>     
>  _The Oregon Treaty of 1846 ended the joint administration north of the Columbia, placing Bush Prairie firmly in the United States. Ironically, by staking an American claim to the area, Bush and his party had also brought Oregon's black American exclusion laws, clouding the title to their land; these laws would not apply if the territory were under the British Empire. When the Washington Territory was formed in 1853, one of the first actions of the Territorial Legislature in Olympia was to ask Congress to give the Bushes unambiguous ownership of their land, which it did in 1855. Bush was thus among the very first African-American landowners in Washington State._
> 
>   _According to the Oregon Trail History Library,_
> 
>   _The Bush-Simmons Party is credited by some historians as having been in large part responsible for bringing the land north of the Columbia River—the present-day state of Washington—into the United States. They established a presence that attracted other settlers and strengthened the American claim to the area in later debates between Great Britain and the United States over partitioning the Oregon Country.[4]_
> 
>   _George Washington Bush lived out the rest of his life in Washington. He maintained excellent relations with local Amerindians, many of whom he nursed through epidemics of measles and smallpox. He also extended remarkable generosity towards with his fellow settlers, sharing grain with needy neighbors rather than selling it to speculators at great personal profit.[1] Bush died on April 5, 1863. Isabella James Bush died September 12, 1866._
> 
> My thanks to Rainpuddle and xxSparksxx for their encouragement and beta!


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